Peter watched in horror as the blade slowly sliced down the side of Neal's face. Starting at his forehead a fine red line appeared in slow motion. The blade continued through Neal's left eye brow and eye lid and down over his cheekbone before coming to rest at his jaw line. Neal's mouth was clamped shut, and his breathing was labored as panic swept through him like a shot of amphetamine. Despite the pain he had managed to hold himself still, terrified that the cold steel would cut into his eye if he moved. He could cope with deformity but not blindness. Once the cut was complete the blood began to flow more freely, quickly soaking through his shirt in a widening bright red stain. As soon as he caught sight of it Neal lost consciousness. He had never been good with blood, especially his own.