Dear Enmity

Prologue

November 9th, 1954

I couldn't tell whether or not I was still dreaming. The light this time was more unbearable, more piercing as it shot through me and straight to the darkest parts of my brain, the shutdown parts. The parts I don't think I even remember how to use.

Maybe my humanity is back there somewhere, hiding out away from the storm. It's not needed now. Not for this new chapter in my life. Not when humanity is rendered unnecessary when you do nothing all day but lay on a table while they...

I wish my nervous system would shut down as well, or go hide away where ever my humanity had gone. Right next to that locked box filled with all my memories. The pain is... excruciating. It was as if they were pulling the veins and arteries from my body, pulling them from my limbs and torso as their jagged edges snagged and tore at the surrounding tissue. Like thousands of tiny barbs and hooks, splitting me into pieces.

I was nothing but ribbons, shreds of something I couldn't even name anymore. 

That sensation, however, was the most welcome out of all my tournaments. That one was the easiest to recover from. It was the relief that came afterwards that tore at my chest, only because when relief came, agony follows.

My body was an old rundown automobile, and these people were here fix me. Restore me. Change me. Tear me apart and put me back together again with new parts, new mechanics and new engine pieces that seemed more foreign then my own face. I wondered if there was any piece left of me that had once been created by something natural. Normal. 

What a joke. I was no more restored then the day they started. Not that I can remember it, nor how long I have been here. Just me, and them, and this cold table. 

And that blasted light. That light that seemed to get brighter and brighter each day. If only it could drown out the darkness inside my head, my body. 

"Mr. Vasiliev," he said leaning his head into the light. They never said it right, my last name, but I suppose I was in no position to correct them.  I couldn't remember the correct way to say it myself. Not anymore. "How are you this fine morning?" He fussed with something on the side table.

Morning.

That's the only way I could keep track of time in this place. Every morning someone came, and every morning they stuck a needle filled with god knows what into the side of my head. Sometimes they would mix it up. Sometimes it went into my eye, or straight through my ribs and into my heart. It would spread, lap over everything I was in massive waves. Waves that crashed and destroyed everything in their path, strangling. 

I wished I was human.

Maybe then I could have died a long time ago.

The needle tip tapped against my temple once, twice. And then he rammed it into my skull. I could only lose a breath upon the impact, nothing but a quick push of air from my lungs and into the stip of leather gripped between my teeth. I had to save my screams for when the injection started to spread.

It was a horrible sensation. Having that thick liquid spread through my brain like a parasite. It crawled through me, taking in its surroundings slowly before it started to work. Washing over everything, ripping and shredding. Chocking and suffocating with its relentless assault. 

I feel like I'm drowning. 

And then I had to scream or try at least. I had lost my voice a long time ago. It came out more like a choke then a scream, rushing through my teeth and into the stip of old leather. 

The man smiled down at me as he pulled the needle from my head. I barely saw him, blurred by that light and the fog that clouded my vision. 

My wrists bucked against the restraints, ankles biting into the chains. The table shook with the force, the force of my body thrashing against the steal and irons. My teeth sinking into the leather for the ... 

I feel like I'm drowning.