Carver takes a shuddering breath, grasping at his head. He can't stop. Has to move or he's going to bust out of his own skin. It hurts to exist. He paces in tighter and tighter circles, desperate to move. He barely hears Pope except for the order.

Purge it. Get rid of it.

He paces for a long time. And then, finally, he goes still. Exhausted and swaying on his feet.