Darkness. Pitch black. Void. Empty. A long, low pitched beep broke the silence. 

Instantly, everything was white. Everything I could see was white. Blinding white light, 20 shades too bright. I squint my eyes, vainly attempting to dim the invasive brightness. With the constant shine, and the floating feelings I feel in my limbs, I wonder if I’ve gone to Valhalla. Voices. Are these fallen warriors of old? I can barely make words out from the mumbling. The fog makes it hard to hear.

“Subject...died...new...test...abducted...awake…”

Abducted? Who would be unwilling to go to Valhalla?

As I put two and two together, something within my brain snaps. Like the sun, my mind burned through the heavy fog, allowing newfound clarity of thought. The blinding light dims to dozens of rows of LED lights. I don't feel like I'm floating through air anymore. I can feel I'm laying down, but in I'm not on my back. I’m tilted at an angle. As my eyes adjust from the sudden change in brightness, I look around to better understand my predicament. I notice the IV drip running to my arm first. Then my surroundings, nothing but plain grey, and a clear plexiglass viewport. Some kind of tube? Stasis? I don't remember signing up for stasis experiments. 

Wires ran to my chest, ending in what appeared to be a suction cup. Attempting to move my arms, I found both hands bound, but feet were free. My right arm was strapped securely, but my left arm was sloppily velcroed down, not secure at all. The talking grew louder, but was still muffled by the tube. I could now understand most of the words.

“Well, the new subject is right as rain. The others couldn’t handle the voltage. I bet the new one will hold up just fine. Division 2 bet that he’ll only scream for the first hour. They say he’ll break after the fifth hour.”

Voltage? Are they talking about me? Am I going to be tortured? Shit, I need to get out.

A loud hiss sounds from above, and I hear the movement of fluid. Fog descends from the corner of my vision. The sensation of floating starts from my arm, spreading into the rest of my body. The LED lights grew brighter and brighter.

No. NO! I’m not going back! Let me out of this!

Biting down hard on my tongue, I expected a shock of pain, but none came. Bringing all my willpower to bear, I forced myself to push through the haze. The machine hisses louder, and beeps continuously. Mustering my strength, I rip through the poorly secured velcro holding me down. I pull the IV line out of my veins, milky white fluid dripping down to the bottom of the tube. As soon as the fluid stops flowing into me, I can feel the floating sensation leave my limbs. Next, I pull the suction cup wires out of my chest, which cause an alarm to start blaring in my tube. 

‘Shit.’

With haste, I undid the velcro securing my right arm to the bed. The sounds of footsteps approached my tube. Just as I feigned sleep, 2 medical personnel wearing bloodied scrubs came up to my tube. As they peered in, they conversed with each other.

“What’s wrong now? This damn pod has been going off all day.”

“No, look. The monitors fell out. Goddamn chink shit never works right.”

“Relax, don't worry ‘bout it, I'll take care of it. Just go and finish cleaning up A-27.”

As one surgeon turned the corner, the other opened up my pod. He scanned inside, looking for where the wires lay. Then he noticed my unsecured arm, and a look of surprise crossed his face, and then turned to horror as he saw the disconnected IV line.

“Oh shi-”

His sentence was cut short by a fist connecting with his throat. Gasping for air, he clutched his throat on the floor, writhing back and forth. Probably a broken windpipe. I stumbled out of the pod, almost losing my balance in the process. The surgeon started banging on the nearest pod, causing a racket. A voice rang out from somewhere beyond the rows of pods and tubes. 

“Mark? You okay over there? It’s not that hard to fix some wires!”

I grabbed a dropped scalpel nearby. Slowly, I walked to ‘Mark'. I tried to speak, to no avail. Only a quiet rasp came from my mouth. ‘Mark’, now wheezing heavily stared up at me, banging away on the pod harder. I couldn't risk fighting 2 at once, even with a broken windpipe. He flailed against me weakly as I slit open his carotid artery, blood spurting everywhere. He wheezed in pain, and flailed even more, desperately attempting to save himself. Even while drugged, my adrenaline shot through the roof, negating the effects of whatever drug they put inside me. Although my mind was still somewhat foggy, I understood that another one was coming. Covered in blood, I hid behind the closest pod, leaving a trail of bloody footsteps on the previously pristine white floor. The other surgeon must be close now.

“Mark! Oi, answer me ya fuck! What's fucking taking so long? If you don't answer me I'll- Oh. Well then."

I heard his footsteps walk to body of ‘Mark', right into my trap. Gripping the scalpel tighter, I readied myself. As he was approached my ambush position, I attempted to stab him from behind the pod. I felt a hand grab my arm, and fling me into the walkway. A kick into my stomach was delivered shortly after landing.

“So you killed Mark. Damn. I was just getting to know him. He was my first friend after I transferred to Section 3 you know. Ryanne will be angry at me for killing you, but this will we worth the lecture. C’mon then. Get up.”

He hauled me to my feet, accompanied by a knee to the stomach. Sending me sprawling into a nearby pod. Using it as support, I stood, facing him, and spat blood off to the side. Due to the drugs, pain was coming back, but significantly dulled. I could use this to my advantage.

“What's the matter? Not afraid of the big bad South African are you? Who’d known that I’d get more action in medical than security? Crazy huh?”

He shifted his stance, obviously experienced in some form of martial art. The way he referenced that he was South African meant he was probably a mercenary. But why was he in medical rather than security? It doesn't matter anyways, he was going to die as well.
As soon as I get the fuck out of here. Even with pain reduction, that mercenary would push my shit in if I tried to go hand to hand, not to mention I probably had 10 different drug cocktails in me, and I was running off of pure adrenaline. My legs felt like they were trying to walk through liquid concrete.

“Ain't sporting to fight a man ain't willing to fight né? C'mon, hit me! Do it then! Come on!”

Picking up the scalpel again (and a pair of surgical scissors), I lunged forward. I feigned an overhead stab with the scalpel. The mercenary fell for it, attempting block the attack. With all my force, I thrust the scissors into his midsection. Surprisingly, he managed to react. He dropped his hands from the overhead, and smacked the scissors out of my hand. He didn’t expect me to slam the scalpel into his knee. As luck would have it, the scalpel avoided the bone, and penetrated into cartilage. As he cried out in pain, he clutched his knee, unable to pull the scalpel out without destroying more tissue. Taking this opportunity, I ran (which probably resembled more of a hobble than a jog) down the halls, looking for a way to escape this hell. 

Scarlet blood was a dark contrast from the clean white tiles of the never-ending room. How big was this place? I’d walked past at least 50 rows of pods. Was there no end? No, of course there was. Nothing goes on forever, right? My legs no longer felt like they were wading through concrete, instead they’d caught aflame, burning each strand of muscle. My muscles screamed for relief. Every part of my body ached all at once. I collapsed mid-stride, unable to breathe. I lay on the floor, gasping for air. My body felt like it’d been dipped in napalm and set aflame. I knelt, and vomited. Off-white paste, with the viscosity of oatmeal gushed out of my mouth. I could taste the acidity in my mouth, but not whatever the vomit was. I needed to get out of here. Rising to my feet, I saw the world spin. Using the wall for support, I stumbled along for what seemed like hours.

---

Sweat ran down my brow, turning red when it picked up blood. I’d been sweating non-stop after vomiting. A drip trail of light red followed me, wandering to nowhere. How long have I been here? How many people were in these pods? Were they empty? Were there more like me? These questions ran through my head, over and over on a loop. What would happen to me if they found me? Would they kill me? Put me back in the tube? Torture me?

My mind soon found something else to focus on. A heavy duty stainless steel door, at the end of a row of pods. I’ve found it. The exit. I’m getting out! I stumbled in the general direction of it, unsure of my balance. The world continued to spin, trying to confuse me. I was going to escape, no matter who stood in my path.

I reached the door, and to my dismay, I found it locked. Some sort of keypad was nearby. At this point, my body was barely holding itself together after the shock of the drugs. I drained my willpower reserves focusing on the keypad. It was an 4 number PIN lock. Damn. I couldn’t keep my hand from shaking enough to even touch the touchpad. By mistake, my finger, still coated in blood, slipped down the right side of the touchpad.

The touchpad turned green, and spoke.

“Welcome [C. Douglas, Mark] [Medical Division 3] [Access Level 4] Access Granted to [Medical Supply]”

The sound of the locking lugs retracting sounded like music to my ears. Walking inside, I rummaged through the cabinets, searching for something to cure me. Canisters lined the cabinets. A few canisters were labeled: 

[Biofoam - Critical] 

[Biogel - Treatment] 

[K-Dressing - Treatment] 

[P-Morphine] 

[E-Stat] 

[PLP]

[EN-Paste]

[E-Stim]

[PE-7 *EXP*]

I selected [PLP] randomly, opening the container. Inside was red and white pills, too many to count. 

‘Fuck it.’

I dumped 3 pills into the palm of my hand, and swallowed them dry.

[To be continued]