[At least when he's high it feels good. They want him to be able to fight on this drug so the pleasurable affects aren't all encompassing, but they're certainly there. Worse is the affect on his mind, erasing his awareness of self and his memories when he's in the height of it. He's not immune to boredom, exactly, but it's hard to be bored when you can just get off or touch your own face and find it fascinatingly pleasurable.

The higher dose leaves him strung out for a while but all too soon the crash comes, and it's harder.

This time is a little different than the others. Not curled on the floor vomiting and sobbing but instead curling on himself and clawing at his skin, screaming incoherently to get it off, get it out, make it stop. Bugs under his flesh, or something crawling. That's what he thinks. He tears up his arms and his neck until his nails are dripping and bloody, his eyes turned red and his hair white and his demeanor feral and mad. He scratches under his eyes, leaving scratches on his face, and licks at his bloody nails when he finally calms down.

But the calm doesn't bring a reversion to his normal look, like something broke a little in him, and he's stuck like this.

The next time the orderlies step into the room he attacks them. Unsuccessfully, but with more strength than he's had before.]