Page 124 of Wicked Little Nightmare

"What the hell?" I muttered, my voice sounding small and scared in the cavernous space. This wasn't a memory — it felt too real, too immediate. Like I'd been yanked out of time and dumped into this clinical nightmare. Like I was really here.

Movement caught my eye. I turned my head, heart racing, to see a group of men in crisp suits filing into the room. They moved with eerie synchronicity, each step measured and deliberate. Their faces were blank masks, devoid of any emotion as they regarded me with cold, calculating eyes.

One of them — a balding fucker with wire-rimmed glasses — pulled out a sleek tablet and began tapping away. The others followed suit, scribbling in notepads or murmuring into recording devices.

"Subject appears lucid," Baldy intoned, his voice as flat and lifeless as his expression. "Vitals stable. Proceeding with initial assessment."

I wanted to scream, to lash out, to demand answers. But my body felt leaden, unresponsive. All I could do was lie there, a bug pinned to a specimen tray, as these soulless bastards picked me apart with their eyes.

"What's happening?" I tried to ask, but the words came out slurred and garbled. Panic clawed at my chest. Where was Cam? He'd never let these fuckers near me. Unless... unless he couldn't protect me. Unless they’d killed him. The thought chilled me more than the frigid air of the lab. I tried to scream, to call out, but it was as if my lips were sewn shut. No sound came.

As the men in suits continued their clinical observations, I retreated into my mind. I imagined tearing them apart, ripping out their throats with my teeth, painting the pristine white walls with their blood. The violent fantasies comforted me, reminding me of who I really was.

The room shifted, changing into a stark, windowless chamber. A massive screen dominated one wall, flickering to life withgrainy footage. My stomach churned as I recognized the small figures on the screen: children, no older than ten, huddled together like frightened rabbits.

A booming voice filled the room. "Watch closely, Patient X. This is what happens to the weak."

I couldn't look away as men in white coats descended on the children, wielding cattle prods and syringes. The kids' screams pierced through tinny speakers, but I felt... nothing. No horror, no fear, just a cold, detached curiosity.

"Good," the voice praised. "Emotion is weakness. Weakness is death."

The phrase burrowed into my brain, repeating on loop. I wanted to feel something, anything, for those poor bastards on the screen. But it was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.

"Emotion is weakness. Weakness is death," I mumbled, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.

"Again," the voice commanded.

"Emotion is weakness. Weakness is death," I repeated, louder this time.

The scene changed. I was perched on a cold metal table, my legs dangling uselessly. A doctor loomed over me, all bushy eyebrows and gleaming teeth. In his hand, a vial filled with swirling, white liquid. The label read "Patient Y." In his other hand was a syringe, something clear inside as he deployed the plunger a fraction, some of the liquid squirting out.

"What's that?" I asked.

The doctor's smile widened, predatory. "Nothing to worry about, dear. Just a little something to help you sleep. Happy 16th birthday, Lakey. When you wake up, you’ll have the best birthday present you could ask for."

As the needle slid into my arm, I thought of Cam. Would he be proud of how brave I was being? Or would he be disgusted by my weakness?

"Emotion is weakness," I whispered as darkness crept in. "Weakness is..."

The world faded to black before I could finish.

I jolted awake, disoriented and groggy. The doctor's meaty hand was patting my back, his touch making my skin crawl.

"Excellent news, Lakey," he chirped, sounding way too chipper for my liking. "The implantation was successful."

Implantation? What the fuck?My brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and I couldn't make sense of his words. I tried to ask what he meant, but my tongue felt thick and useless in my mouth.

"Don't worry about the details," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "You just focus on recovering."

I wanted to grab him by his stupid white coat and shake some answers out of him, but my body felt like lead. All I could do was blink stupidly as he scribbled something on a chart. Nothing hurt, so what the fuck did they do to me?

The sterile lab faded away, replaced by Sarah's soothing voice. "Lakey, I want you to slowly come back to the present. Take a deep breath and open your eyes when you're ready."

My eyelids fluttered open, and I found myself back in the dimly lit room. My heart was racing, and I felt a cold sweat trickling down my spine.What the hell had just happened? Those memories... they felt so real, so vivid. But they couldn't be, right?

I tried to shake off the disorientation, but my mind kept circling back to that word:implantation. A chill ran through me as I wondered what they'd put inside me. And why couldn't I remember any of it before now?

"Fuck," I muttered, rubbing my temples. My head was pounding, and I felt like I might puke. But I couldn't show weakness, not here, not now.

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