Why me? Why them?

Prologue

I always hated this part. The way the color bled into the perfectly fine grey cloth; the way it filled my nose with its metallic tang as it slowly crawled towards the floor. I hated it making a steady rhythm of drips. I hated the way it turned the tiles into a slipping hazard, then into a fly trap. I hated the way it stained my clothes. I hated the feeling of my gut twisting into a tight knot, travelling towards my heart. I hated how cold the scalpel felt. I hated the way my clothes clung to me. I hated the reddish fingerprints in my vision. I hated how dark it was. I hated how the walls were covered in tools. I hated how the walls looked alive and bleeding. I hated what was on the shelves. I hated how he looked at me, like I was a monster. I hated how easy it was.

But I knew this was not the worst part. And I hated what came next.

Leaning closer to my patient, I felt the graze of shaved hair; the scent of salt tickling my nose. Pressing my right hand onto the cold metal, I could feel two beams following my every move, digging into my cheek.

Most likely the only thing he can see. I thought.

Two whimpers escaped the boy's mouth, his brown hair shifted slightly as I whispered into my patient's ear.

"Shh... You are going to be okay. There's only going to be a little bit of pain, don't worry."

Backing away, I removed my hand, adjusting my hold of the cold metal and looked directly into the boy's eyes. His brown-hazel pupils enlarged from the darkness of the room. His nose was perfectly structured in the center of his face; his lips sealed by the gag I placed there, his ears almost flat against his skull, his hair looked like a wet rat's nest, both flying everywhere and plastered to his forehead, his face was filthy, dirt smudged his pimple covered face, only parted with the thin rivers of red coming from the side of his head. I'll have to clean that...

I then gazed at the metal clamps over his wrists and ankles, double checking they were in place and triple checking that the clamps didn't injure him further. This was a difficult procedure and there needed to be minimal damage. But the only official exception was the mark I left on the base of his neck.

Turning back towards my medical tools, I replaced my scalpel for the thread and needle.

Taking my time, after I had cleaned the wound, which was hard considering the boy had finally found his courage to thrash around, I started stitching up the head wound, focusing on the heavy breathing of the boy.

The boy... I should be calling him by his name, It's only fair...

John? Was that it...? Yeah, that's right. John Maylee.

Deciding that John needed something else to focus on, I tried talking to him. "John, that's your name correct?" In response, Johns eyes whipped to look at my face, shocked. I smiled sadly. "John Maylee. A young teenager with the record of having an ego larger than his own home. Surprised?" I chuckled as John stopped struggling, giving all the answers I needed. "Dear child, I don't just pick random patients; I choose those who I think need my help the most. Now, please, hold still."

If this works... If this FINALLY works....

No. Doctor don't raise your hopes....

Now that John wasn't struggling, I checked the clamps again. With all that thrashing, I was worried he might of have bruised himself. He was foolish enough to run without looking, and now look what he had done to himself. Sighing, I finished stitching.

Now, there's only the risky part.

Moving towards the shelves, I had to focus on my own breathing, clearing my head. I had to do this. There was no other way. If I didn't do this, his death would be in vain. But if I fail again, I'm not sure if I can handle the pain again. I'm not sure if I could continue again... but I need to continue.

So, grabbing the needle, and I placed the tip into the chemical, it was a greenish color. I always associated this color of green with life and hope.

Closing my eyes, I grabbed the second needle and placed it in the second chemical. It was a strange murky liquid. I always associated this color with death and misery. Well, it's not exactly a color...

I couldn't help it, I turned to John. I analysed his helpless situation. No one would miss him; he had no other family. His ego managed to get him into messy situations. He had no real friends. It was just him, in his grey clothing, trapped in a mad man's lab. John had stopped struggling and had closed his eyes, seemingly accepting his fate as Doctor P's 54th patient. Good, that way I don't have to see it happen.

I take a deep breath, I moved towards the wall where I had preplaced the wanted jars and materials. I shuddered as I saw what was in them, even if I was the one that placed them there. Floating in one of the jars was something like a jaw that was leathery and toothy, deformed to the point of it being unrecognizable (a previous experiment that had failed miserably). There was another jar, this time holding a hare's head that had previously grown to a size where it had starved to death, and the rest were parts of skeletons and animal skins. Moving the materials onto a separate medical trolly and moving it towards John.

Now it begins...