Last one of the day, bit closer to catching up (just one behind as have one I need to type up that I'd previously written on paper). This one is a response to this prompt.
***
I awoke from sleep slower than usual, groggy and somewhat dazed as if suffering from the flu. I cleared my throat as I opened my eyes, confirming what I'd already thought. I did not lay in my own bed, nor anywhere else I'd like to. While the bed on which I found myself could have come from a hospital, the room in which it sat certainly wouldn't have met any sanitation standards even if it might once have served some medical purpose.
Light streaming through the shattered window illuminated dust motes floating through the air and graffiti marring the crumbling walls. An outdated monitor beeped consistently, hooked to a number of other pieces of equipment that might have been current a good twenty years ago. Looking over at a tray, my stomach grew even more unsettled upon seeing the rusted and blood covered tools sitting on a tray.
That unsettling feeling continued even as I rolled out of the bed to leave the creepy scenario as soon as I could. However, when I lowered myself to to floor to step away, I fell instantly, only one of my feet having touched the ground. I tried pushing myself back up, but again lacked the expected purchase. Looking down, my jitteryness turned to sheer panic. Whoever had brought me here had chopped off one of my legs!
The fact that dirty--and bloody--rags bound my new stump did even less to comfort me. No wonder I felt feverish, I probably had an infection. I yanked off the monitoring equipment and scrambled as best I could towards the door, then screamed in unexpected pain as my hand landed on shattered glass. In response, I heard footfalls rushing in my direction, and moments later a few people entered the room, two of whom wasted no time in lifting me and placing me back on the dingy hospital bed on which I'd awoken.
"Our client thanks you for your donation." That from the man who hadn't lifted me.
"I never agreed to any donation! And what need would they have for a leg? You can't transplant entire limbs!"
"Who said anything about a transplant? It was a donation for science."
"You chopped off my leg for science?"
"That's what I said, yes."
"Why would you even think that's okay?"
"Well, you're here, alive, and we're in an abandoned facility we own, far from any population center, and no police presence. That's okay by my book."
"Then you're certifiably insane."
"Some might even call me mad." I didn't care for the giggle he made at his own joke.
"I don't suppose there's any chance of you just letting me go?"
"No, no. We've still got work to do. I've got a number of projects I'd like to try."
"Me too, but none of them involve being the guinea pig of a madman."
"Sadly, it's not that easy to obtain new test subjects. It takes a significant amount of planning and is far too much hassle to go through. Not to mention that we can't have you running," that same annoying giggle, "free and spreading word about us."
"Hey, you let me go, I won't say anything."
"We could arrange that, yes, but there are other forms of communication."
"Why would you even do this?"
"Science, as we've already established. We're just talking in circles now. See you on the other side, subject 37." Accompanying this last statement, I felt a prick in my neck and felt myself drifting off.
"You've got thirty-seven other..." I started to say, but couldn't finish before I fell into unconsciousness, hoping that I wouldn't have to wake back up to further horrors.
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