Your vision begins to fade, and reflexively, without thought, you do the only thing you can think of.
You drink.
You open your mouth and Mewtwo's sweat flows inside. It's impossibly salty, and somehow thick. Your eyes begin to water, though you're not sure if it's the lack of air or the foul taste.
You swallow and suck down another mouthful, desperately clinging to consciousness.
Between the taste of unwashed feet and the texture of the slurry, you begin to feel nauseous. A layer of grime coats your tongue and you work to spit it out, only to watch with horror as it mixes with the sweat that's slowly drowning you, and swirl about before resting against your lips.
Metwo's thoughts echo in your head once again. "You know how to make this end. Drink up, and when you finish, you will thank me for allowing you to live."
You shake your head furiously, trying to shake the perspiration from your face, even for a second, just for one quick, life-giving breath of air. It doesn't budge. You gasp, and watch sullenly as the last air from your lungs bubbles its way up and out of the rest of your vomit-inducing beverage. Resigned, you go back to drinking it down.
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