Patient B-2

Chapter Sixteen: Avalyn

As I regain consciousness, my senses are assaulted by the stark crimson hue surrounding me. Red, once my favorite color, is now a grotesque canvas for the horrors inflicted upon me. Looking at the macabre spectacle before me- the visceral tableau of my own innards cascading from my ruptured abdomen, I think I'm starting to hate the color.

My scream doesn't make it past my lips, something pressing down into the back of my throat, silencing any outcry that seeks release. Darkness encroaches upon the fringes of my vision, threatening to consume me whole, and I find myself yearning for the sweet oblivion it promises. My consciousness flickers like a dying flame, struggling to illuminate the horrifying reality that surrounds me. Through the haze of agony, my mind begins to piece together the scene before me- a sterile medical table serving as the stage for my grotesque ordeal.

As a pair of gloved hands enter my field of vision, I struggle against the unknown object constricting my throat, desperate to unleash a scream that remains trapped within. My eyes nearly bulge as the hands commence their grotesque task, shoving my spilled entrails back into their rightful place with brutal efficiency. I strain to decipher the muffled words emanating from the figure looming over me. His head jerks continuously, darting glances over his shoulder as though he's speaking to someone.

The situation unfolds before me like a twisted nightmare- something only your brain could conjure up after witnessing one of those gorey horror films. With an almost surreal detachment, I watch as the figure methodically pushes the flap of my torn abdomen back into place. Retrieving gleaming medical instruments with a clinical precision that belies the horror of the situation, he sets to work with an eerie calmness, stitching me back together as though I were nothing more than a broken doll awaiting repair.

I can't move. I am gripped by a chilling paralysis that renders me a silent witness to my own torment. It's a haunting echo of those harrowing medical tales whispered in hushed tones- the horror of waking amidst surgery, ensnared in the vice-like grip of anesthesia-induced paralysis.

Yet, this nightmare is infinitely more sinister, for the figures looming over me are not benevolent healers but agents of unspeakable cruelty. They are aware of my consciousness, of my agony, and yet they proceed with their grisly work with a callous disregard for my suffering. Their intentions are not to mend but to maim, to rend me asunder only to piece me back together.

As the rhythmic pull of the needle weaves through my flesh, the cacophony of static in my ears gradually begins to ebb, allowing my senses to claw their way back as I finally discern something other than the overwhelming pain. I hear the voice of the man looming over me- a chilling symphony of clinical detachment tinged with a hint of satisfaction. "Very responsive, albeit the anesthetic," he remarks, once again glancing over his shoulder.

"How incredible. I've never seen a vampire with human DNA. We need to let Mr. Wellington know of this discovery," another voice intones, prompting me to believe I was right- someone else is here.

"I say we wait. There's too much more information we haven't uncovered. If we speak too soon, we risk annoying him," he chuckles, his voice a twisted echo of amusement.

His sinister laughter reverberates through the sterile confines of the room, a reminder of the darkness that lurks beneath the facade of scientific curiosity. "Let's go for the cure, then speak to him. Can you imagine it? We'd be set for life if we came to him with such a discovery."

The other man finally comes into view, his surgical glasses perch precariously on the bridge of his nose, nearly obscuring his eyes. His scrubs are saturated with crimson- my blood. It seems as though they've been dyed red instead of their original white hue.

With a chilling chuckle, he shares a knowing glance with his companion. "You're right. Let's keep it to ourselves until the time is right. We can't risk anyone else being put on the job," he declares, his voice an evil whisper that echoes in the recesses of my mind.