Epilogue

Not too far away…

The man’s eyelids fluttered, and he blinked his eyes open, confusion clouding his mind. The world around him was a blur, a haze of shadows and sharp lights that made his head spin. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. His breath hitched as his vision slowly cleared, revealing his own reflection staring back at him from a polished metal surface above.

Panic set in as he realized he was lying on his back, completely nude, strapped to a cold metal table. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears as he tried to comprehend what was happening. He could feel the chill of the metal seeping into his skin, the biting cold of the straps cutting into his wrists and ankles. He yanked at them, desperation fueling his movements, but they held firm, unyielding.

His breath came in ragged gasps, the rising terror making it difficult to think. He craned his neck, trying to get a better look at his surroundings, but the room was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the walls. The smell of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, sharp and sterile, adding to his growing sense of dread.

Suddenly, movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. His head snapped to the side, eyes widening as a figure emerged from the shadows. A woman, her face obscured by a medical mask, moved closer to the table. In her hand, she held a scalpel, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light.

“W-What... What are you doing?” he stammered, his rusty voice cracking with disuse, and drenched with fear.

The woman didn’t respond. She merely tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him, as if contemplating where to begin. The scalpel in her hand glinted as she shifted her grip, holding it with a practiced ease that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Please,” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “Let me go. I haven’t done anything?—”

Her eyes flicked to his, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She reached out with her free hand, tracing a line down his chest, her touch cold and clinical.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” she murmured, her voice low and devoid of warmth.

His eyes widened in horror as she brought the scalpel to his skin. The cold steel pressed against his flesh, and he screamed, the sound raw and primal, reverberating off the walls of the small room. The blade sliced through his skin with sickening ease, parting flesh like paper. The pain was immediate, searing, a white-hot agony that blotted out all coherent thought.

He thrashed against his restraints, the metal biting into his skin as he struggled to escape. But there was no escape, no mercy. The woman worked with methodical precision, the scalpel gliding through his flesh as if she were performing a routine procedure.

His screams filled the room, each one louder and more desperate than the last, but she didn’t falter. Her movements were calm, deliberate, as if she had done this a thousand times before. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky against the cold metal, the metallic scent mingling with the antiseptic in the air.

His vision blurred with tears, the pain overwhelming his senses. He could feel himself slipping away, consciousness teetering on the edge as the agony became too much to bear. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the woman’s eyes, cold and unfeeling, as she continued her work with a surgeon’s precision.

And then, mercifully, everything went black.

* * *