The mechanical respirators beeped incessantly, a symphony of melodies.
The readings of the ventilator pressures, displayed automatically on the screens of the computerized microprocessor-controlled machine, indicated imminent danger.
The golden curtains of the intricate ward, billowed behind the gentle breeze.
The patient's body jerked vigorously in a nasty convulsion, his eyes flung wide open with sudden urgency.
Professor Zack Zeeman moaned in incinerating pain, awakening from his thirty-two hour time lapse of comma.
He struggled free, pulling the nasogastric and endotracheal tubes out his nostrils and mouth with robotic aggressiveness, gasping breathlessly.
He stroked his chest, in search of his injury sustained from Viper's energy blast during the traumatic incident yet, found not a single scratch, not even a scar.
His feet kissed the floor gently as he descended the profiling bed, soft creaks accompanying his staggering motion.
Zack's belly churned with a nauseating sensation, his vision blurred, his cerebrum, fuzzy and his lungs stung.
Dizzily, he held unto the frame of an enormous floor-mounted portable air conditioner, catching his breath.
But the pain did not deteriorate, ironically, it rather excruciated.
His spine felt ruptured by steel razors as he lingered in sorrow.
Crouching low, Zack let out an agonizing wail and an eerie phenomenon unfolded instantly.
Gargantuan steel wings burst out his back, nastily, animated with robotic fluidity.
Razor sharp feathers, each longer than a kitchen knife, reminiscent of a sickled scythe, numbered in millions, his wingspan, stretching beyond sixty feet.
The screams of the Professor reverberated throughout the medical facility, his powerful wings beating with rhythmic motion, propelling him through the ceiling and out the futuristic hospital at hypersonic pace.
Zack Zeeman's form dissipated into the sun, over the horizon, a thousand feet beyond the wild blue yonder.