Eli’s head pounds with a searing heat, so bad he has to lean against a wall to catch his breath. Every gasp is a thousand sheets of sandpaper on his throat - is this what being born feels like?

A new pain grips his left arm - so intense he collapses to the ground, his face slapping on the wet pavement. Screams try to escape his throat, held fast by some silent block.

Everything, every synapse, every nerve in his body directs its energy to one spot on his arm.

He stares as an angry red number rises like a welt.

100.