Johnny can't possibly imagine. He can barely think at all. His palms flatten back against the wall like the ears of a cat; he coils tight at the slight increase in the doctor's proximity, muscles tensed, innards knotted in trepidation. Still the instinct to fight seems strangely quelled; still, his palms cannot imprint the wall behind him, no matter how hard he wishes for a way out.

"What's the other option?" he asks, his voice cracking wherever it climbs above a whisper.