Patient B-2

Chapter Sixteen: Avalyn

He removes his blood-soaked gloves with a careless flick of his wrist, and with a casual toss, he hurls the tainted gloves in my direction. Their weightless descent is a cruel mockery of my paralyzed state as they land near my face. "Oh, look who's awake."

The weight of their gaze bears down on me like a suffocating blanket, their eyes gleaming with perverse satisfaction. Though their expressions are concealed behind the sterile barrier of medical masks, I can feel the malevolent intent radiating from their very beings.

The man to my right, his eyes narrowing in an ominous approximation of a smile, delivers a mocking pat to my abdomen, the gesture sending a jolt of pain coursing through my battered body. "All done, A-3. You did well."

As I tentatively inspect my newly sewn abdomen, a sense of dread gnaws at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to consume me whole. Yet, before I can fully comprehend the horror of my situation, the man looms over me once more, his hands reaching toward my face with a chilling intent.

With callous disregard for my well-being, he yanks at the obstruction lodged in my throat, the sensation akin to rubbing your skin raw with sandpaper. Gasping for air, my parched throat constricts like a vice, each breath a desperate struggle against the suffocating grip of panic. "She's panicking," the man to my left observes, stating the obvious.

Who wouldn't be panicking in this scenario?

"The new ones always do. And to think we grant them mercy by having their most invasive procedure done unconsciously. They never appreciate it, do they?"

With a click of his tongue, he casts a disdainful glance in my direction, as though I am little more than a specimen to be dissected and discarded at his whim. And to him, I am. "Nope, never."

As a flicker of sensation returns to my limbs, a surge of desperate hope courses through me. With trembling fingers, I tentatively test the boundaries of my newfound mobility, the sensation both exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. I gaze down at my fingers, and it's then that I realize it wasn't just my stomach they cut into. A tapestry of stitches crisscross my ravaged body like a gruesome roadmap of suffering. From my feet to my torso, every inch of my flesh bears the cruel marks of their handiwork. It looks like a sick experiment gone wrong. Though, in this case, I'm certain this is exactly what they were wanting.

"I'm Dr. Gavens," the man to my left announces. His hair, a stark contrast of grey against the sterile white of his medical attire, speaks volumes of the years he has spent honing his craft in the shadows of depravity.

He then gestures towards his companion, a younger man whose presence radiates a palpable sense of menace. "And this is Dr. Hearty," Dr. Gavens continues, his voice trailing off into a chilling silence.

"We're pleased to have you with us," he declares, his voice dripping with false warmth. As he removes his mask, his features are illuminated by a smile that seems too perfect, too unnaturally pristine. His teeth gleam like polished ivory, too numerous and too sharp. "We don't get many patients, at least not ones that we get to keep, but it seems you will have the pleasure of residing with us until further notice."

The pleasure?

The manner in which he cloaks his intentions in the guise of assistance nauseates me. It's as though he presents himself as a benefactor when in truth, he's here to dissect me under the banner of science. "You'll be rooming with two others, shall we go meet them?"

The straps binding my wrists and ankles are released, and I immediately try to kick my feet, but find myself barely able to move. The doctors chuckle at my futile attempt, as if finding it endearing. "Would you kindly assist?" the older man asks, gesturing towards someone unseen in the room.