Vicodin. A soft sleepy cloud of Percocets and Xanax. Morphine. God, Rhys could go for painkillers right now, and something to sleep. Just a nice cocktail of everything, chased down with a pint of ice cream.

He's not getting it, though, so best not to even think about it.

"Wish I could, man." His voice is small and reluctant, and another shudder passes through him. "They did something to me, nanite drug shit, but all it did was stop me from fighting or passing out."