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Summary
Zanka can feel the last of the air leaving his lungs.
His chest hurts.
Everything hurts..
The pressure around his neck digs deeper every time he moves. Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to breathe, but it doesn't matter how hard he tries. The air isn't coming.
Dots are starting to fill his vision now.
Little black spots.
Then bigger ones.
The room tilts.
His thoughts are getting slower.
Fuzzier.
He hates it.
He hates all of this…