A Distant Reverie

Chapter 37

Vesper found himself awake. His first thought was the strange, rancid stench invading his nose. It smelled of something damp, infused with the caustic scent of alcohol and the harshness of something ferric. It was strong enough for him to pry his eyes open to figure out the source, despite the grogginess hanging over his head.

It's bright?

Blinding lights were shining directly overhead. The discomfort made him nauseous. He squinted, turning his head to the side as he felt the onset of a headache.

A pair of eyes stared back at him.

Or rather, where the eyes should have been.

Vesper suddenly found himself looking at a disembodied head. Its eyes sockets were hollowed out and emptied. The empty crevices were still red around the edges, caked in dried blood.

He screamed.

Tried to. Something tough had been stuffed into his mouth, preventing him from uttering a word. The harsh guttural sounds escaping his throat were nowhere close to conveying his terror.

In a panic, he reached to remove whatever was gagging him—only to find his limbs tightly bound. A set of metallic chains was wrapped around his arms and wrists, shackling him in place on top of some flat surface. In a panic, he flailed about, fruitlessly trying to free himself. The sharp edges of the metal chains cut deep into his skin in response, leaving behind scalding burns. It was futile. He was only causing himself pain.

Normally, he would have chanted Indura to free himself, but he was unable to invoke any complex spells with his mouth gagged. The few spells that he could cast without an incantation were useless in this scenario.

"You're awake."

A deep baritone voice echoed in his ears. Vesper flinched, realizing for the first time that there was someone else close by. He spun his head around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Aside from the disembodied head to his left, he found a middle-aged man sitting by a desk nearby. His clothes were plain, reminiscent of the rags wore by civilian farmers. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a polished and formidable build. Red splatters were smeared across his skin and clothes. In his hands held a pair of scalpels and scissors. A confounded expression was worn on his face, his eyes staring vacantly at something on his desk.

Vesper glanced down.

Sprawled over the desktop was a dismembered torso, in the midst of being pried apart.

What the fuck?!

He wanted to throw up. The cloth in his mouth triggered his gag reflexes as he struggled with the discomfort.

Dread slithered up his spine as he understood his situation.

Human experimentation.

He was about to become the next test subject.

"Did I startle you? My apologies. I have a bad tendency to get absorbed into my work," the middle-aged man said with an eerie casualness as if his heinous acts were just part of a regular day. He rose from his desk, setting aside the bloodied scalpels and scissors, and clumsily wiped his hands.

"Even if you're scared, relax, will ya? The more you struggle, the more you're going to make this worse for yourself."

Vesper flinched as his captor took a seat beside him. Upon closer inspection, he could see the hardened muscles and countless scars littered across the man's body. There was a subtle pressure radiating from the man—the way he talked and moved emanated a presence that compelled him to listen. Vesper was reminded of Marine, when the pirate was about to fight.