Drake caught a glimpse of the retreating spy as everything began to blur and despite his efforts to break his fall, his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. He hit the floor hard.
Obviously the darts had contained some form of muscle relaxant and considering her hasty retreat, the darts were intended to kill rather than merely incapacitate him.
He was beginning to lose all feeling in his body, and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Struggle as he might, he just couldn’t get his arms or legs to work.
Footsteps approached, and he felt Nickelby grab under his arms and start to drag him down the hall.
“P…po’sn…” mumbled Drake, his tongue swollen, his breathing laboured.
“Yes, I thought as much, sir,” replied the butler, bundling his employer into the small elevator and punching the bottom floor button. “But don’t you worry; I’ll get you to the labs.”
He had *maybe* a few minutes to save his employer.
If they were lucky…
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