Arthur secured Grimm in a four-point padded silver-steel razor-sharp harness bolted directly to the star-iron flat stone slabs of the dais.
The straps were heavy with woven Kevlar and braided carbon-fiber, designed to restrain forty metric tons of thrashing striking force. Grimm lay on his right side, his breathing rapid and shallow, his amber eyes fixed locked onto Arthur’s face.
Arthur prepped the injection site over Grimm’s left greater trochanter. The exact site of the ancient thigh fracture that had nearly ended the hound’s life in the cull pens of Ward 9. He shaved a five-inch square of black fur, scrubbed the skin with chlorhexidine. Then he sprayed a topical cryo-anesthetic to numb the cutaneous nerve endings.
“Air-powered needle armed,” Arthur stated, locking the heavy gauntlet over his right forearm. “Pip, maximum heat damping on his main neck blood vessel. Echo, stabilize his blood pressure through the soul-sync.”
Arthur lined up the eighteen-gauge hardened heavy dark metal hollow tube with the thigh marrow portal.
KACHUNK.
The air-powered gauntlet fired with a bone-shaking hiss of tightly packed cold air. The heavy hollow tube drove cleanly through Grimm’s dense outer-brain bone. It anchored directly into the marrow canal.
Arthur depressed the high-pressure trigger. He drove two hundred drops of the glowing violet marrow emulsion directly into Grimm’s skeletal core:
