In the privacy of his own head, Commander Vimes swore; he cursed and raved fouly, badly enough to turn the air blue if he'd said half of it aloud. Rather, if he'd been able to say any of it aloud. For no matter how many desperate signals he sent to his legs and arms, he couldn't move. He couldn't move his eyes, his head or his mouth; his whole body felt heavy and curiously numb, as if he were half asleep. But if he were half asleep, Vimes wouldn't be starting to panic like he was now.
Screaming inside his head, Vimes desperately tried to move- even a toe or a finger, something to let him know that he wasn't totally trapped. But nothing happened. Groaning soundlessly, Vimes tried to take stock of the situation. He'd just been waiting for his appointment with the Patrician, listening with growing annoyance to the irregular clock's ticktick-tock- that filled the room and his skull similtaneously- when everything had suddenly turned dark... And he'd woken up like this.
Oh gods, I know