Spector, with a jolt, you come to.
The blueish-white cast from the monitor is still dimly lighting the room. It's freezing in here. Your breath is creating steam. You were out of it, but for how long? You're not sure.
Then, a humming.
"Musha rig um du rum da..."
It sounds like the Admiral's voice. There's someone here.
He comes out of a side room, casually, carrying something in his hands. A pot of tea? It's not real. He's not real.
He's a fucking spook.
"Oh. I see you're up. How do you feel?"