Kieren searches around them and finds a bench. She probably doesn't want him touching her, so he just gestures to it instead, knowing he should still explain things and besides that, he still feels like he needs plenty of explanation himself to understand what's happening. "Where I come from, there's this company that developed a medicine." Kieren holds up his injector, shrugging as he does. "So long as we take it daily, right in that hole, it keeps the pathways to our brains open and working."

He's not about to say that his hands had been shaky, because his hands aren't supposed to be shaky and that's a whole different kind of frightening that he can't explain. "I couldn't talk before," he admits. "Not when I'm rabid." Self-consciously, he tugs on the edges of his sleeves to pull them lower over his wrists, a defense-mechanism that's grown since his death.