This will be the last sample we take today. Sound good?” As Dr. Marsden guides the needle under my skin, his voice is as gentle and reassuring as someone who wasn’t holding me captive and performing a series of invasive tests on my person. “You’ve taken, like, six vials already,” I mutter. “I hope you’ve got a sugar cookie hidden away somewhere.” “We’ll make sure you’re replenished.” By “replenished” Marsden means more needles—the kind where stuff goes into your arm as opposed to being drawn out of it. “I bet people wouldn’t mind your taking over the world so much if you guys had sugar cookies.” Marsden chuckles and shakes his head. “I do so prefer you this way,” he says, a please-kick-me-in-the-teeth level of obnoxious smile on his face. “What, you mean lucid?” “I was going to say ‘chipper,’ but why split hairs?”
