The room felt real. Too real.
I’m lying flat on a cold metal table, my body frozen under the weight of thick straps that hold me down. The glass walls seem to close in around me, reflecting the surgical lights in a blinding halo above. My mouth is dry, my limbs heavy. There's no escape, only the distant sound of muffled voices—their words clinical, detached. They move behind the glass, masked faces hidden in the darkness, watching, waiting.
“Prepare the sedative,” one says, his voice low and robotic, drifting over the hum of machines. My pulse races, though my body remains still. Sedative? I try to move, but my arms won’t budge. I try to scream, but my throat is tight, constricted. Panic floods through me.
“Adrenal response high. Initiate beta-blockers.” Another voice, this one female, precise and cold. I feel something sharp, a prick at my neck. The world blurs for a moment. My vision tunnels as my heart slows, each beat a dull thud in my chest.
“Blood pressure at 160 over 90. Administer norepinephrine.”
I don’t understand half of what they’re saying, but I know what comes next. I’ve been here before. I know this room. The way the light burns through the cold air. The steady, methodical preparation of the masked figures. It’s like they’re not human, just machines going through the motions.
A mechanical whir clicks into life, and I see it—some kind of syringe, long and gleaming, inches from my face. My breathing turns shallow. The restraints dig into my wrists, tighter now, like they’re reading my panic. I strain against them, but it’s no use. I'm trapped. This is real. It has to be real.
“Commencing neuro-stimulation sequence. Increase voltage incrementally.”
My head jerks involuntarily as a sharp pain fires through my skull. My thoughts splinter apart, static filling the spaces in between. They’re doing something to me, something I can’t fight. My body spasms, but the straps hold firm, pulling tighter, constricting.
I hear a faint, familiar voice through the fog of pain. “Is she responding?”
“She will. Full cognitive capture in progress.”
My brain feels like it's being ripped apart, pulled in different directions. I want to scream, to beg them to stop, but I can’t form the words. My eyes flutter, catching glimpses of the masked figures hovering over me, their faces obscured by the dim glow of screens.
“Alpha waves stabilizing. Increase stimulus.”
The light overhead dims for a second, plunging the room into deeper shadows. It’s suffocating. The glass walls seem to bend, warping the scene, the faces of my tormentors twisting into something grotesque.
A sudden wave of cold sweeps over me, and my vision begins to blur at the edges. My mind races—this isn’t a nightmare, this is real. It’s real. Every sound, every sensation confirms it. The tightness of the straps, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the soft murmur of machines, even the electric hum that cuts through my skull. It's happening again.
“Subject is entering theta state. We’re ready for phase two.”
I thrash, uselessly, desperate to wake up from this, desperate for an escape. But it’s not a dream. My skin burns where they’ve injected something into my veins, cold tendrils crawling through my body.
“Prepare the next dose.”
Another masked face looms over me, the syringe in his hand catching the harsh light. He leans in, his breath hot against my skin through the mask.
And then, silence.
The pain fades, the figures blur. My head lolls to the side as darkness washes over me, pulling me down into its depths.
YOU ARE READING
Subdue-X
RandomAna's world is turned upside down when she becomes entangled in a deadly drug trial, orchestrated by someone she trusted. As she fights to survive the harrowing ordeal, Ana's relationship with Christian is tested to its limits. Amidst their struggle...
