You stare in wonder at the pin for a moment, as it's coated in viscous saliva that drips slowly off it. Then you remember that time they replaced your damaged upper arm with a grenade because... because... Oh sweet merciful heavens, this is too much even for a dream world.
You find yourself thinking this, sitting bolt upright awake in bed, clutching something hard and cold tightly in one hand. You sit for a moment until you realize that you are holding something. Without thinking, you open your hand and look down at its contents.