This is a continuation of the ultra short story I made on the USS thread. I like the concept very much, but at the end, this took many months to finish. Enjoy, and do leave comments of any kind!
I lied in the bathtub. My feet rested on the head rest, my camera sitting next to it. The tap dripped hot water onto my face, its wisps of steam condensing on my boxcutter's fine blade. "Bye, world."
I grasped my neck and felt my pulse. Two arteries, two cuts. It hurt, but I didn't care anymore. The hot water washed the blood away, carrying my life within.
I felt my body cooling.
I embraced death's lethargy.
... Then I felt no more flowing blood.
I rose from the bathtub, my fingers inside the open slits on my neck. "What the...?"
I grasped at the slits on my neck, dribbling lukewarm water to my bare chest. Not blood, water. I had drained my blood down the drain, yet I was still here, looking at my deathly pale reflection on the bathroom mirror. Mirrors don’t lie, yet I was here, alive. I managed a whisper, “Why...?”
They say that if you die in your dream, you will wake up on the higher level, usually real life. But I couldn’t die.... The cuts hurt, but the pain had dulled a bit. But it still hurt like hell, and they also said that you don’t feel pain in your dreams. I didn’t know who to believe anymore, not even myself.
I sat on the wooden dresser, the boxcutter on my hand. The blood.... My blood on the cutter had dried to flakes, which I promptly peeled and dusted it off my bare thighs. A faint metallic tang reached my nose, one too familiar now.
I turned toward the mirror behind me and eyed the slits. I had tried to pull the skin together before, but there was no blood to glue them so they just flapped limply like dead meat, closing on itself. I touched a finger, trying to feel the insides of my neck. Reaching the artery required me to cut through a layer of muscles first, and it had felt a little different since I cut it. The interior of the arteries felt smooth to the touch. I stuck a finger in the gap and waited for some other sensations, but none came. Rubbing around, my fingers felt the skin shifting from the inside. I pinched the folding skin and slipped my nail between the layers, then pressed my fingers deeper into the open fold. My fingers met each other in front of my throat, pressed tight against the taut skin.
I toyed with the flap of skin. Aside from the weird floating feeling, it felt like slick, rubbery leather, almost artificial. The Adam’s apple below it was more like dried glue, sticky yet slippery. I rubbed the cartilage, wondering whether I’m curious enough to open it and see what’s inside. After cutting the flap of skin loose, I tapped at my throat with my cutter. There was no significant sensation, so I tapped harder and harder. The cartilage suddenly gave way, leaving the cutter blade embedded inside my throat. Had I not lost all my blood, I would have choked, but all I did was stare at the hyperventilating reflection on the mirror. I poked at the lodged cutter before pulling it out, and whistles came out of the hole as I breathed. My finger slipped inside and was met by the vocal chord. Curious, I tried to speak, but the vocal chord was blocked by my finger. The bizarre sensation of the clenching chord drove a shiver of pleasure inside me. I used to wondered whether throatfucking was actually pleasurable, but now I didn't. My finger went deeper, the full length of it now inside my throat. I probed around, holding back the reflex to cough.
The sound of trickling water caught my attention. I peeked inside the bathroom, finger still inside neck, and found the bathtub overflowing with hot water. I took out my hand and waved at the wisps of steam. Taking the camera and the cutter, I went inside and set the camera up for another round of recording.
I took my place back in the tub. My head throbbed with anticipation of what was going to happen. Relaxing myself, I took a shallow breath, each shallower than the last until I finally stopped breathing. I kept my breath in as long as I can, which turned out to be as long as I want. The familiar burn on my lungs didn’t feel as urgent as it was before.
I stayed in my position for a few minutes, bobbing my hands on the surface while I held my breath. A few minutes later, I decided that I had procrastinated enough from doing whatever I wanted to do now. I exhaled, pinched my nose, and noticed a tickle on my throat. I cupped the slit with my hand, remembering that air can get through it. So what’s the point of me holding my breath? Grumble.
With the cut taped, I could now properly hold my breath. I lied in the bathtub, exhaled as much as I can, then, with my hands gripping the edge of the tub, submerged myself. Under the surface, I sucked all the water I could into my lungs, prompting my reflex to choke. My hands twitched, but I forced myself down. Air bubbled out of my mouth and nose, pushed out by the pressure of water. Soon after, the last bubbles of air left me, leaving me only water to breathe.
My chest felt heavier with every breath I tried to take. Numbness enveloped my body. My mind cleared itself from the intrusive thoughts I had since God knows when. I finally had some peace of mind, at last.
Then I felt.
No. No. Why couldn’t the world spare me some silence? This must stop!
I could stop it.
Grabbing my cutter, I stabbed at my chest and felt my chestbone dent under the blade. A pang of pain flushed through me, but that was it. I continued by dragging the blade down. As the blade sank inside my stomach, nausea and some other numbed feelings filled my chest. The sight of something rising from my stomach stopped me. Intestines? I reached for it, but it slipped away.
Then the smell hit me. It smelled like stale fat, only so strong it felt like it rubbed itself into the inside of my nose. The taste didn't help, either. Even with my numbed senses, I could feel the acrid bile and the bittersweet taste of digestion.
I shook my head, focusing on what I must do. My heart beat merrily, unknowing of what was to come. I rummaged inside myself, but the rest of the useless organs resisted me and my cutter, annoying me even further. I put the cutter and start pulling at the organs, but they were harder to pull out that I thought. Locating the connective tissue of each blob, I sliced at them with my fingers. They did not cooperate.
Frustrated, I took my cutter and bit it, trying to snap off a small piece of the blade. I jerked the cutter, snapping the blade, but the rest of the blade raked along my face, cutting deep into my nose and almost clipping my left eye. I discarded the cutter and rook hold of the small piece of the blade, then went inside then continued cutting out the organs, leaving out the digestive organs because I didn't want more intrusive smells and God knows what else inside my stomach floating around the bathtub. During the process, I bumped my hand to my spine, sending a shiver of pleasure along it.
Finishing the last cut, I began pulling the loose organs one by one. I clearly recognized the spleen, a lump of liverlike tissue. I dumped it on the bathtub floor. The liver proved too big to take out, so I widened the cut on my abdomen down to my pelvis, taking care not to let the blade slice into any more intestine. More intestine slipped out from me and floated, now looking like a grotesque curtain that blocked my legs from sight. I pulled out the liver and pushed the rest aside.
Tracing the main blood vessels into the thorax, I bumped into my diaphraghm, knocking the nonexistent wind out of me. My faint heartbeat made itself known through the muscly membrane. I placed the blade and started cutting upwards, stopping just below the sternum. The deflating lungs sucked more water inside the ribcage, somehow making me feel more bloated and weak.
I grabbed my heart. The resistance of my hand on my heart was crystal clear in my mind. Pulses of lethargy filled my mind as my heart throb. I liked it. Maneuvering my fingers to the top of my heart, I slowly sliced my heart free from myself. My body spasmed and convulsed as I cut the blood vessels, reflex struggling for the last time.
At last, I had no more distraction. I held my heart, still tough and unyielding. Now it's just the warm water, the numbness, and my emptying thoughts. Felt so good to have some peace of mind...
Excellent continuation of the teasing start! I like how it's gender-neutral.
Yeah, I aimed to let people immerse themselves into the experience. Being sex-neutral seems to be the best way.
Thanks for the compliment! (motivation boost: instant +2 paragraph)
Progressive suicide porn. The future is upon us!
A loud crash woke me up. I tried rolling out of my bed, but I couldn't. Everything was black. I recalled what happened last night. Nothing. Did I go drinking again? A painful bell blasted inside my head, seemingly confirming my suspicion. Damn me. I shouldn't be drinking. I was as lightweight as a baby, after all.
Another crash reverbed inside my ears, punctuating between the water trickle nearby. I initiated my after-hangover routine, starting from wiggling my toes and fingers. They worked. Next, arms and legs. My limbs were on fire when I tried to lift them, they were so heavy.
A vague memory of a dream surfaced in my mind. The dream I'd had for a long time. However, this time it felt more vivid. I somehow remembered the feel of blood flowing from my neck, the sensation of a blade deep inside my neck. I knew the feeling of floating freely, weightless. I remembered the peace.
I clumsily sat upright and found a camera staring at me. Water trickled from my hair and face, collecting on the puddle... that was my open belly.
The dream. It was not a dream.
... dear lord.
The crashing noise continued, this time more distant. I hauled myself out of the bathtub onto the floor, splattering water all around me. My limbs were all weak, but I managed to drag myself to the towel rack and dry myself, taking great care with my insides. I grabbed the camera and turned off the water tap before crawling out to see what the crashing noise was about. Grabbing the door frame, I pushed myself up onto my feet.
The room lights turned on as I stumble inside, illuminating the messy floor with a fluorescent hue. The blue curtains covered the orange evening sky. I peeked outside and found a hazmat-clad environment crew struggling to pull a jammed trash bin in their recycler. The machine's clawed filter arms ground against the metal bin, making another crashing noise. I wonder how it felt like to be inside that machine. Feet first, slowly picked apart by the arms and then crushed by the hooks of the rotating grinder. The crackle of splintered bones reverbing through me as blood and flesh were squished and mangled.
What was I thinking? Sheesh, these intrusive thoughts.
One of the crew looked up and his sight met mine. His apologetic expression turned into a curious one after noticing my naked body, so I quickly backed off. Thank lord he didn't see more of me. I couldn't imagine what would happen if someone knows about this. My... condition.
I lay on my bed and stared at the gap on my stomach. A trail of intestines ran down toward the bathroom. My hands pulled and stuffed it in idly as I contemplate about my current fate. My body took on the color not unlike the classic incarnations of vampires or zombies, but I was not sure which. Thankfully, it didn't came with the usual discoloration like so often portrayed in films. My skin was plain white. Still, no one should know about this.
Suddenly, I felt the buzz of my phone below me. I picked it up and was immediately blasted with a familiar voice, if not friendly. "Where the hell have you been?! You didn't pick up my calls, didn't see my messages, didn't even show up at the science fair! Have you lost your mind?"
The science fair? What was she talking about? It was still weeks before it starts. Or maybe not...? I whispered a quiet maybe just to calm her down, but it seemed like no sounds were coming out of me. I tried to cough out the phlegm in my throat. No result. Remembering my condition, I grabbed my throat and found it unharmed, so I slipped my hand into myself and plunged it into the chest cavity. My hand immediately punched my lungs, puking some water into my mouth in the process. The cavity was wide open, of course I couldn't speak. The diaphragm rolled up on itself, hidden beside the slightly wet lungs. It must be sealed before I could talk. So I went up and grabbed a roll of cellotape from the pile of stationery on my desk. I hadn't used it much; the roll looked like it could cover my small body twice and still have some to spare. Sticking one end of the tape on the tip of the sternum, I streched the tape onto my spine and plastered a good amount of tape on the back wall of my insides, then tore the excess. Then I taped another end just beside the previous one, slowly covering the gap of my chest.
As I did the process, the voice on my phone grew less irritated and more concerned. I ignored it, focusing on the problems at hand. Soon I took my first breath, filled my lungs with fresh air, then promptly puked more water. The fresh oxygen flowing inside me sharpened my dull senses.
Unfortunately, pain is also a sense. I fell on the ground, a thousand pinpricks and needles pulsing, no, growing inside me. There were worse things to think about, mainly the voice on the phone. Told me she's coming to my house. Next thing she see would be me, then she would freak out and invite the whole world to find me. So, much worse than mere pain. Okay, I didn't know which was worse, and at this point I can't think about it anyway. My agony worsened with every step I take. My head pounded like a jackhammer. There must be some painkillers on my parents' practice room. I needed to get them before anything else.
After a few precious minutes of crawling, moaning, and rummaging, I found a vial of morphine and jabbed half a syringe of it into my arm. I let a sigh of relief before collapsing on the sterile floor, feeling the drug coursing in my veins.
Except it didn't, because apparently there was no blood to carry it. The drug spread in my arm, alright, but that was it.
And, of course, morphine works on the brain. I should put it in there for the drug to work. Morphine also has a really wonky potency. One drop too much and I could be dead. Or, maybe in my case, a sleep so deep half a bathtub's worth of water evaporated before I woke up. Just how long did I really went out?
I pulled a tiny dose into the syringe, one I could with my shaky hands. Better safe than sorry. Unsure where to inject, I poised the syringe between my eyes. The sight of the dripping needle terrified me. My hands trembled in pain. If I slipped... No, shouldn't think like that.
Cursing under my agonizing breath, I stabbed the syringe into my head. The needle cracked through my skull, but then the resistance disappeared. Depressing the plunger, I felt a small pressure somewhere inside. I kept injecting.
Suddenly, the pressure popped and an unexplainable bliss flowed through my body, replacing pain with pleasure.
I dropped the syringe to the floor, then hoisted myself to the doctor's chair and relaxed. My limbs still felt as heavy, but at least they're not painful to move anymore. I sat there and closed my eyes, enjoying the release from the torturous event. My body buzzed with pleasure and joy. My mind cleared itself from the agonizing fog. The thought of dealing with her tugged in my mind. I could do that later. Yeah, later...
Sarah knocked at the front door. Sweat drenched her school uniform. Her long black hair was tangled in the wind, but she didn't care. She had ran here straight from the bus station. A mere four hundred meters, but that plus the latent summer heat were enough to make a reasonably fit body like hers to pour sweat all over.
Her mind was a mess of emotions. She really, really wanted to punch Silva, how dare she left her without any word! Yet she felt worried because she knew she heard Silva cough, and Sarah knew how bad that cough sounded. Silva must be sick. She felt guilty for not checking on her earlier, she wished she had been here a week earlier. Back then she assumed that Silva got picked up by her parents on another cruise ship, helping them with doctor stuff. But here she picked up the phone! She must be home.
Sarah was sure Silva was inside. There's a car on the driveway. She could also hear her talking from inside the house. Determined to get in, she had previously called both the landline and Silva's phone. No response. The intercom was dead, either. She tried peeking from the mail door. It's dark inside, but she could hear Silva's voice close by.
She knocked at the door, harder this time. The murmur inside stopped. Sarah perked up. "Silva? Open the door, please?"
She waited for a few minutes, but no more sounds came. Sarah sighed and slumped on the door. Why did she came all the way here, again? Useless. Useless hope that Silva might be here. Of course she wasn't. That cough might be the sound of the sea waves crashing on the ship. She came here for nothing.
In her frustation, she shoved the door hard.
The door opened.
Yeah, so much for her frustation.
As she closed the door behind her, her worry began to grow. The front door's unlocked, the house was dark, and Silva's voice seemed to come from the basement. Sarah didn't know why Silva was talking so loud she could hear it from outside.
"Silva? Hello?" called Sarah. The house was pitch black, but Sarah persevered and found the basement warm and alight. She heard Silva's voice, but she still couldn't make sense of what she was saying.
Stepping down the stairs, Sarah found Silva bound on a heater. She was naked, blindfolded, and gagged, all with duct tape. Her muffled scream stopped when she heard Sarah.
"Oh God, Silva, what the hell?" Sarah dropped to her side and started ripping the tape off her. As she revealed more of Silva's body, Sarah noticed the gaping, bleeding wounds. "Oh god oh god oh god the blood-"
Silva hushed. "Not my blood, I'm- Sarah, duck!"
Goosebumps sprang on Sarah's neck. She turned her head to see a hammer driving straight into her forehead, splitting her skull open. Sarah crashed to the floor, limp as a ragdoll.
Dash pulled his van over behind the environment crew's car. His hands were pale from gripping the steering wheel too hard for too long. He let a sigh as he finally arrived at his destination.
As far as his team's slaving career went, this haul broke their record for fastest recon time. Three hours, no more. He didn't want to do any haul before they know the surroundings, but others took the chance and blew the house's fuse right after dusk. Dash was nervous all the way here. He saw nothing alarming, though, and that calmed his nerves.
A knock on the windshield broke his driving trance. He rolled the window the old fashioned way to see a hazmat helmet staring back at him.
"You're late for, like, one whole hour. Are you Dash?"
The man in question playfully headbutted the helmet. "Well, you called one hour ago. What can I do? Anyway, let's go load the load. It's almost dawn. How many, Ev?"
"Two. Seems like they're friends. One of them got Cole torn up pretty bad, but Ari said he's fine for now. I hurt the other one pretty bad. It felt nice hitting her. I might have killed her, though. Whoops."
Dash stepped out of the van and followed Eva into the house. They entered the lantern-lit living room and joined Ari and Cole, the latter lying naked on a bloody couch and wrapped in equally bloody bandages. Cole's hazmat suit lay beside him, all torn up. Ari was scrubbing the bloodstain on the floor with a rag, while her other hand held her breast and squeezed it nervously, almost like her own personal stress ball. "How come?" asked Dash.
"Girl's all drugged up. Grabbed a bone saw and... See the result." Ari shrugged. "Luckily, her parents are family doctors. This boy barely lives. We need to be armed next time, Eva."
Cole moaned and coughed blood through the bandage over his face. A few drops made their way to the couch, painting fresh crimson on the green velvet. Eva threw her arms and shouted, "Ah, right, we need to clean that. And, well, the rest of the couch."
"The rest of the house," corrected Ari.
"Yeah... damn. Dash, grab the lantern and haul the girls. Watch your step down there and be careful. I'll do... something. Oh, keep the bound girl in your house, okay? My cells aren't that healthy at the moment." Dash nodded and strode out of the room, taking the lantern with him. He also took a knife on the way, just in case. Seeing the extent of the wounds on Cole made Dash a little scared, and the knife unfortunately didn't help. His hand didn't shake as much with it on him, though.
After he descended into the basement, he picked up one of the haul and slung her over his shoulder. He was surprised at the lack of weight on his shoulder. The girl cried out under the bag on her head. She didn't struggle at all, though. Dash liked the struggle his hauls put up, so this one struck him as odd. He shrugged off his concern, blaming her blood loss, and went to put her in his car.
He eyed the bound girl on the trunk. The starry night highlighted one long scar running down the length of her torso. Covered behind her black hair, her boobs were practically nonexistent. Rows of faded self-harm scars lined her arms and legs. The scars were neatly spaced, almost as if the girl didn't want it to look bad. They were barely visible, but Dash knew how the scars look. He glanced at his bloodied wrists, how the thin, wrinkly scar covered his fragile arteries.
Dash was putting the dead girl in the van when he saw Eva took a jerrycan filled with fuel out of the front seat. "Oh, good idea. Love me some fireball," he commended.
Eva nodded her head as they walked in once more. " We'll never get all the blood out before. It looks like no ones going to be home for a long time, anyway. I'll set this up down there. Go grab stuff, okay? Be quick."
Dash grabbed her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. "No one's home? For a long time?" He pulled her closer, his hand taking the jerrycan and dropping it on the floor. "Then we can stay here for some time. Ari can take the haul." The brown-haired man leaned on her and unclipped her helmet off, then set it beside the jerrycan.
"Fuck, guys, really? We've been here for too long; someone can come here any second! Work, you fuck!" shouted Ari from the living room.
The three stared at each other. Eva broke from Dash's embrace, giving him the that-happened look before scurrying downstairs. Dash shrugged and began his work
He first searched the living room, taking apart computers for their good parts. He tried the master bedroom, but it was locked. He took all the food from the kitchen, putting them in a trash bag. Then, together with Ari, they stuffed some of the drugs from the doctor's office in between the foodstuffs. Leaving Ari to deposit the loot to the van, Dash proceeded to the second floor.
As soon as he stepped in the second floor, a primal fear deep inside him suddenly flared, making him stumble on the last step. Goosebumps and his stronger heartbeat told him something was certainly wrong up here, but he couldn't put a finger to it. The dark environment dimly lit by his lantern only added to the chill.
He didn't turn off the lantern when he went inside the bedroom, ignoring his team's SOP on visibility. The meager light bulb provided him sight and a sense of safety he didn't want to lose. The air was significantly wetter in the room, and his nose quickly caught the lingering fatty miasma. It smelled like Eva's dungeon. Other than the bed and the mirrored dresser, the room was unusually messy, almost like someone else had ransacked the place before.
Amidst the books and clothes, a trail of dried grime lead to the bathroom entrance. His thoughts went wild with possibilities. Had her her own captive? Did he just captured a nymphomania? The smell wasn't really of sex, but rather of fat and blood, so he discarded that thought. He opened the bathroom door, his gaze following the trail. The feeling of being inside a stranger's dungeon terrified him. His lack of familiarity made him all more cautious. He would never want to be at the other side of the business, even if it was not for real.
He held the lantern upward, highlighting the trail up to the bathtub's side. He froze when he clearly identified the human heart and liver lying on the floor, bile leaking from below the latter. Aside from some glimpses of the gory videos his girlfriend usually watched, Dash had never seen real human entrails. As the shock wore off, he picked up the heart and gave it a squeeze. The bag of muscle held its shape rather firmly. He squeezed it a few more time as he put his lantern on the sink to free up his hand. The liver was too disgusting for him to hold with his bare hand, so he picked a towel, wrapped it on the organ, and deposited it inside a plastic bag he rummaged from the bedroom. Coming out of the bathroom, he put the heart inside the bag and continued his search for valuables. He pocketed a camera and a phone, and took a laptop under his arms.
Walking downstairs, Dash found Eva about to go up. "Hey, I was about to call you. Let's go. The bomb's set up. What have you got upstairs?"
Dash passed the plastic bag to her. "See for yourself. I'm done for today. Take care, sweet." He kissed her briefly, then went to his car. Dash practically had no day job, so he relaxed in his car and watched the fireball roar from inside the house as the environment crew drove away. He left the scene after the ashes started to fall.
Soon after, he rested in the comfort of his own couch, the girl safely contained in his basement. He was too tired to undress, but regretted it when the content of his pocket stabbed him in the thigh. He emptied his pockets with one hand, the other one rubbing the pain off. Seeing that he looted a phone, his hands quickly set into the instinctive task of removing all the tracking bits, but realized that he had done it already. "Oh, stupid me," he thought out loud.
A curious thought led him to a two hour exploration of the poor girl's phone. Aside from the hidden porn folders she clumsily hid, her life was pretty normal for a depressed student. Few friends, even fewer still in touch. Edgy memes and borderline porn intertwined with cat pics and pretty landscapes in her downloads folder. Her camera roll consisted of artistic-looking photos, her friend's photos, and more cats. Had he not kidnapped her, she might have been a good photographer.
He took a look at the camera, but found the battery out of charge. Looking for the correct charger in his loot pile would take too much time, so he plugged it to his beast of a computer and left it charging overnight. He finally collapsed on his couch and closed his eyes.
Dash failed to notice the knife missing from his pocket.
Wait so is it still a gender neutral main character? At what point did she get tied to the radiator?
Yeah, I can't keep it in my pants, so female she is.
At some point between the chapters lol
I want to read about that encounter. He finds a literally heartleas bloodless duct taped girl zombie and treats her like an oddity barely put of the norn? That's why I started thinking he might be zombie response team.
This is terrifying, I mean very much. This is like something you can sell for real, what a fine horror story, I really feel it.
I could see nothing, my captor had replaced the tape on my eyes. The cold, damp air felt like it would drown me if I tried sleeping. The tape wrapped around my naked body hadn't loosened up even a little bit. Blood and dread of my captors clung to me like my sins do. At least I killed one of them.
Still, this was it. They, whoever they are, had caught me. I knew I should have known better than to peek from the windows back then. They arrived right when the morphine wore off. They were clad in those white armored hazmat suit, the kind used by the radioactive bomb crew I once saw in the news. The environment crew must have reported me to some higher ups, who then ordered my capture. How else can you explain the armor? They knew I'm immortal. They weren't prepared for me, though. When they grabbed me, I pulled back and elbowed the helmet, before grabbing the nearest surgical instrument and stabbed them on their weak spots. The next one that showed up promptly tased me and tied me up in the basement.
They took Sarah too. My only real friend, struck to death right in front of my eyes. For some reason, they tied her up too. These... demons, what would they do to her? Would they...
NO. STOP. Lord, these dark thoughts were getting worse.... They kidnapped me too; I must steel myself.
Most of the pain I had had had subsided, but my insides still felt like a mess. My wounds had all closed up since I took the morphine, which might mean there's a roll of tape in me. No wonder it felt so weird. I loved how morphine took the pain right off my mind. Lord, I wish I had more of them.
Ha ha, wishful thinking. All I could do was lie here and hope to die, even if I couldn't.
Ages later, the steel door opened to the captor, the clangs of their armored boots coming closer with each step. I let a disgraceful grunt when he lifted me off the floor. They took me upstairs, handcuffed my hands, and released me from their grip, letting me stand awkwardly. The rough concrete floor surprised me as it dug into my feet. I pulled on the handcuffs and ascertained that the handcuff chained me to the wall by a relatively long chain, giving me some freedom of movement within the cell. I chose to stand still, fearing repercussions if I did anything wrong. I'd better escape with less scars.
The captor stripped the tapes off my body, exposing me bare. I had gotten used to that by now. I must. He pulled tape off my eyes last, letting me see again. The room was small, spartan, and certainly felt like a holding cell. The pristine white wall housed one single noble lamp, complementing the white concrete floor and the childish blue mattress near the door. Across the corridor was a cell just like mine, devoid of any furniture. A hose lay next to a toilet below me, the water bowl empty yet clean. It was almost as if they had prepared all this for me.
The captor towered in front of me, their helmet hinting at nothing behind. They stayed for awhile, possibly examining me before leaving me alone in my new prison. The cell was left open, but of course the chain wasn't long enough to reach the door. I sat down on the mattress and started shaking. This was my whole life now. The punishment for the sin of a murderer. Probed and experimented on in a lab until Lord knows when. I couldn't even begin to imagine what would they do to me. I once watched a movie about immortal people who can bounce back from death easily. Their government took them and used them for drug tests and crash tests, and tortured them when they had free time. Would that be my fate, too? Yet a part of me was also curious about my… condition. Am I really immortal? This was not the best way to find that out, but I ran out of choice. They might be able to tell me what I am after all.
Still, I didn't want to be a lab rat like this. Unfortunately, I could only hope to escape. I needed that hope, or else they will break me, kill my sanity. My escape efforts must be all out. I need to find a way to break out of these chains, get around the captors, or contact someone I could trust. No point contacting the authorities when you're captured by them…. But who could I trust? Sarah was dead. My parents were offshore, doctoring rich people in a cruiser. No, no, they might be in it as well. I couldn't trust anyone anymore now.
God, all these thinking hurt my head. I lay on the mattress and closed my eyes. A little rest might help. The shackles on my wrists and the chains made lying down awkward, but I had to make do. There was not much I could do right now.
Sarah's cold body shook along inside the garbage bag on the trolley as Eva pulled her along the basement. Her dull blue eyes gazed at a faraway nothing. Solid blood drooped from the gape on her skull, blond hair and bone splinters tangled within.
As Eva passed cell by cell, machinery noise and colder air began filling the tunnel. The scent of blood wafted from the floor as the casters left its mark on the blood bath under. The cells themselves were covered in gore. Once in a while, Eva stepped on bullet casings, prompting her to pick them up.
At last, Eva reached the freezer room. The cell right beside the entrance housed a man in his early twenties. Upon Eva's arrival, he slammed on the bars, crying. “Please please, let me go. Don't kill me. Don't shoot me, please-” He stopped when he realized Eva’s death stare.
She didn't say a word, but opted to uncover the garbage bag and reveal the body. She grabbed Sarah's head and turned it towards the man. Then, she grabbed the head by the jaw and moved out as if it was a doll. “I love to whine too! It's too cold! I'm hungry! Now I'm dead, because masters doesn't like whining!” mouthed Eva with a mocking tone. She made sure to show the gape on the skull she created. The man screamed and fell backwards, revulsed by the sight of the wound. Eva chuckled at his reaction, then said, “Behave, then you'll be with your girlfriend. You want your girlfriend, right? She has a nice, comfy bed upstairs because she's nice to us. You, on the other hand… hah. If you keep making a mess… You know what happened to all the others who tried to escape last week. Right?” The man could barely nod, his fear of blood taking over. To make a point, Eva reached into the skull, scooped a tiny bit of brain matter with her fingers and flicked it at the man. He shrieked in horror. Satisfied with the lesson, Eva pulled the garbage bag back on the body, opened the freezer door, and continued her way inside.
Eva found an empty spot in between all the other corpses the crew had no time to cremate or sell. She dumped the garbage bag there and updated the inventory clipboard by the door. Looking back at the corpses, an ember of morbid curiosity flared in her as she approached the newest body in the bunch. Her interest rested on the oozing pink mush from Sarah's head.
Eva shook her head. The freezing temperature would have ruined the bodies; she needed a really fresh body to explore.