The Collector

Blood. Everywhere. All over me, covering the floor and halfway up the walls. I tried to move, but I couldn't. At first I thought I was frozen with fear, but then I realized what was going on; my hands and feet were strapped to an operating table.
"Don't move." I think to myself.
The man is on the other side of this room. The room resembled a hospital room with at least ten beds. Two on the front and back walls and three on either side. On each bed was a body, all of which had been brutally mutilated, explaining the blood. All of them had tried to escape and this was their punishment.
There was a table in the center of the room on which sat ten jars all of which containing various organs. A brain, a liver, small intestines, large intestines, lungs, bladder, gallbladder and a large one filled with muscle, freshly stripped from the girl next to me. The tenth jar was empty, but it didn't take me long to realize what it was for. A heart. My heart. I looked back at the man and he was coming toward me. My heart rate quickening, instinct told me to try to run, but I didn't. I couldn't. He was prepping his surgical knife when I asked:
"Why are you doing this?"
As he filled a syringe with a sleeping serum, he looked at me with this look that I child has when he gets a new toy. "It's a hobby."
With a look of utter shock I asked;
"Who are you?"
Injecting me with the serum, her replied;
"Just call me the Collector."