[the silence is heavy and cold for a long, long moment. kavinsky is uncharacteristically still in the midst of it, standing there, eyes glowering and skinny shoulders hunched.]

Dead is inevitable, g-maw, [kavinsky says. but it's without heat this time or any kind of flailing aggression misdirected at inanimate objects. it's a factual sentence, or near enough. but simply saying it, putting it up on the wall next to what axel had just stated about here-and-now-- maybe that makes it a less sensational, a little less concrete as a risk and terror. death was always inevitable. remembering that it exists doesn't make it more likely to happen and

as axel says, it isn't particularly likely to happen here. kavinsky stares at nothing for a moment. then it occurs to him again that his knuckles hurt. he scowls suddenly (and closely attuned, his dog raises her ears, though she wasn't looking at him; she had been studying axel's knees with detached interest).]

I thought you were all about the rolling in pointless shit over low-probability scenarios. What gives? And, [he shakes his hands out, twisting them up to look at his bloodied knuckles.] You know how to run those hospital machines?