Moving his head hurts, but he can't help but stare because what he's seeing is so incredibly wrong, he can't quite process it.

He might be hallucinating, but he doesn't think so. Everything so far has that awful crystal-clear clarity of trauma, down to ridiculous details like the way gears mesh together and the copper stink of blood and machinery.

"I'd be fucking amazed everyone survived that," Rhys counters, tugging his cloak against a sudden chill. His tail snags, trying to lash it's way free and sending another spike of pain down his spine. "Seems like some kind of statement, but they're fucking butchers."

"I'm really starting to fucking hate technology," he mutters, closing his eyes. It feels like it hurts less with his eyes closed.

"I guess they can do what drugs so, because I couldn't fight. But I was awake for the whole thing. Should have gone into shock or passed out, but I couldn't. So yeah. I don't know." He opens his eyes again, even though it makes him feel a little nauseous.

"I don't think it's a hallucination, though. And we can't even get into the other cells to help anyone."

At that last, anger and frustration creeps into his voice. Because even the most minor of comforts would be something.

"I'm a healer. Normally I could do..." He trails off. Realistically, he couldn't do a lot more, but at least he could feel like he was trying if he wasn't in a cage.

"At least I could get water. Be comforting. Not sit here with my own...tail up my ass." He'd be amused if it wasn't so fucking, horribly perfect, really. He sighs, and starts to shake his head before realizing ow, fuck, no, he doesn't want to do that.

"Waking up would be good. I'm not gonna count on it, but that's good to know. Reality's always been kind of a flexible concept since I got hit by a car anyway." There's a story behind that. Maybe he'll tell it someday.

For now, thought, he looks at Sylar, who seems...way too calm. "How do you actually feel??"

Practical works. It's a way to keep the mind steady, focus on action rather than mind-shattering horror, and Rhys is all for that and trying to stay functional.

"I don't know if I feel good or bad about knowing I'm always going to lose Misery Poker here. But...I'm glad you're holding up, at least." He lets his breath out, and turns his head as best he can. It's not very well, and in the end he just winds up closing his eyes again.

"If I ever wanted to go into porn, though, I'll have a hell of a gimmick if I ever get out of here."

"Gotta find a bright side somewhere, and tails are sexy," he comments wryly, glancing back at his.

Actually, his is creepy, especially since he knows that whatever they put into it to make it work like that did not come from his own body. Which means there's some kind of foreign, living muscle stapled into his nervous system. Which is just gross and creepy and really disturbing. Combined with the fact that he has no real control over it, there's some serious disconnect going on there.

He wouldn't be surprised if it eventually gets its own thoughts together and tries to strangle him in the night. He's seen this movie before.

"I think the plan right now pretty much comes down to 'wait for an opportunity and try not to do anything stupid'," he agrees, voice tinged with melancholy. He doesn't like this either, especially knowing that he's one of the ones in the best shape and he still can't do anything.

He has no idea how long that's going to last, or what the next round of "convincing" is going to bring.

"At least if we're doing nothing, though, we can say we're recovering and saving our strength. That's...something at least." He heaves himself up, waiting for the world to stop wavering before he slowly hitches toward the sink.