It'd been agonizing, the turning, but it'd been gradual. Cocooned as he is in wires and pulsing veins York hasn't so much as moved since Cortana locked Delta away in his own little corner of his brain, distant enough to give York peace of mind, close enough to keep him from feeling entirely abandoned. But changing back? Within the confines of his digital prison Delta coils and curls and shrieks in fragments of code-

York is left to feel every wire retract, every vein burning as it peels it's way back through his body to the implant site. After a few gargling moments when he thinks he can move- needs to shove himself over enough to hack up buckets of black bile- he clears his throat and screams. No morphine, no healing unit, no deeply wound code to divert the pain and he must feel every inch for every moment it takes for him to become, well, him again. For the thing that had been Delta to be banished from their systems and leave him a collapsed, shuddering mess on the meaty floor.

Running- running isn't happening. He doesn't think he could stand.