The waiting room.

Tunes in my head: What's the Use by Phish
Atmosphere: Reminiscent

In the waiting room, Suzy slowly breathed comforting baskets of air. Attempting to regain her composure, she took a quick glance across the tiled hallway to the apparent freakshow that had assembled in the chairs leaning against the unforgiving glance of the brick wall.

People who were much better off than her. Mangled, impaired, emasculated men at the mercy of some little chemical coursing it's way through their glacial veins. People crying tears of sorrow at their loss at the card game that mattered most. Yet Suzy felt herself to be of stronger genetic material.

She was going into hospital, but not for some routine open heart surgery, like these hypochondriac patients. No, she was going in for the excruciating pain of being put under the horror and nightmare of N02, where the savages could then have their way. The demons could take over. And for once, she felt empathy for the other ones. Their sorrow. Their pain.

She sits in silence, screaming without raising her voice. Running without moving, fighting without biting, crying but still remaining static. Thinking about where she might be now, if she weren't underneath this mask. The dark, confining, restrictive mask.

Suzy squirmed under the sheet, as her friends in the suits stood over her, peering like a pack of blood crazed hyenas in an abattoir. Bloodlust filling their crazed eyes like a river of red rain flowing into a sea of salty tears.

Six-four. Nine-nine. Twenty-one. Routine numbers? Maybe so, but not for Suzy. She knew what they were. The keys to her soul, the password to pick her locks. Even while unconscious, it was instinct. She could still feel the pain of a thousand scythes shaking through her body. The supernatural raven tearing various body parts from the squirming coil that was her unconscious body. Even while unaware, Suzy could still feel the torment.

And yet it went on and on. Like a tweezer tearing pieces of flesh. The hacksaw searing through the mound of bone. And yet these hyenas did not feel sympathy for their poor victim. They say the only thing to fear is fearlessness. It makes for a harder kill, they tend to refuse to accept their fate. The fearless would go down eventually, it was their fate. But refusing to have a little death before the saliva starts to mix with blood makes it so much more painful and so much more messy. This was a problem for the hyenas. They enjoyed their jobs, and they were meant to create works of art.

Suzy was an easy victim, though. They smelt her fear and made it easier for her to accept her fate. And now that she was squirming but not screaming, they knew the time was short. They had to make the final adjustments.

Fourty four, nine. Suzy started to awaken from her dream state. Or did she? Vision was blurred, hearing distorted, smell divided.

The hyenas began to disengage their weapons as Suzy started her ascent into consciousness. The sight of her swallowing her own blood was scary enough. Seeing the blades covered in them would have led to her screaming without fear, running like a monster (if she had the energy) and dying another little death. So they decided to deposit her to the side of the building. It was away from the hyena's den. Their next kill would surface soon enough. Perhaps it would only take a few minutes. Perhaps it would be a great thrill. Maybe even the sweetest chill.

Suzy remained in her little chair. Awakening from her daze, hallucinogetic music began to murmur from the walls. A throbbing pain pounded like an African drum ensemble. Her vision allowed her to see things in a haze of yesterday's rain. But she realise one thing in this state. With her mouth in four piece, her eyes rolled in the back of her head, and her body lying like a three day old carcass on the chair, she was no different from the other corpses in this tiled room. She was merely a member of the distorted freakshow.