Pasted

"Meds," he gasped. "Yes. Meds," she said. The dispensary clicked and hissed open. Inside the plastic cubby were four vials: two identical, full of clear liquid, the third blue, the fourth a distinctively piss-colored yellow. There was
a very old-fashioned-looking pneumatic handheld syringe gun beside them. "What are these?" he asked.
 "A painkiller, a beta-blocking sedative, a metasteroid for the burns and interior inflammation, and a Waverly-class augmentor."
"What's an augmentor?" he asked. But he already had an inkling. "This one's a cocktail. It contains a derivative of phenylcyclo-hexylpiperidine, an artificial slow-release synthetic adrenalin and
a rapid coagulant."
 "You're talking about a Rumbledrug."
 "There's no pretty way to paint it," she said.
Rumbledrugs had become notorious in the sporadic colonial insurrections. Notably on Hellas and Fumirole. On both worlds, they'd been used by rebels in a vainglorious attempt to fight
Spartan-IIs. The drugs were certainly fearsome. The effect on human physiology was impressive in the short term. 
 Unencumbered by the body's normal safety limits, subjects were capable of feats of enormous strength, but the subsequent lack of control and mental instability together with the immediate physiological damage meant that users often died long before they ever laid hands on an actual Spartan. But not before doing tremendous damage to themselves and anything that got in their way.
 "The beta-blocker will keep you focused," she said, as if sensing his thoughts, "and calm." Sweat poured down his face. His guts roiled. Pain wracked
him. "The plan this time?"
 "Same as before."
He loaded the syringe, one vial at a time, and with each of the four shots felt progressively better. As the last one flooded his arteries with a cooling rush, he felt almost good. He looked at his wounds through the holes in his T-shirt. The punctures were about two inches across, thick lateral slits. He felt around to his back, twisting to see in the medbay's mirror, the darkness hampering him. Two exit wounds, a little smaller, spanned his spine. The skin around them was dark red and black, like ripples on a pond, spreading outward in twin elliptical shapes. It looked angry and painful, but he felt nothing.-Chpt.4 pgs. 92-93