It isn't the prospect of losing a few layers that bothers him, it's more the overwhelming sensory overload, the way everything still flashes chaotically, the way he's seeing everything, hearing everything, every word leaping out at him in a whisper, every sound coloured in flashes, crashing down at him, heightened by the anxiety, the fear...

After a moment, he notices it - a distinct scent of cigarette smoke. It only takes him a second to place the source, and he takes a breath, focusing on that, eyes moving up to the face of the man in front of him.

He's still shaking, but he's more lucid now, can feel the exhaustion and starvation hedging up on the edges of his vision, his awareness.

"Where are they? My unit?"