Page 2 of Ravage

"I'm not your guinea pig," I shoot back, turning my head away from him. "You can't do this. It's inhumane."

He sighs, switching the penlight off. "Does her file state anything about irritability? Or is this an effect from the medication?"

I gape at him. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

Someone places a hand on my shoulder, pulling my attention away from him. My gaze snaps over to Dr. Cromwell, her relaxed face giving me a reassuring look. I feel like a child being placated, and it dawns on me that I'm correct. I'm not a human life at all to them, at least not one worthy of respect. I'm just a test subject.

"Try to take deep breaths," she murmurs. "Your blood pressure is starting to rise."

My eyebrows furrow as I look down at my arm, noticing the pressure cuff deflating. "You're going to regret this," I mutter angrily. "You have no idea."

Dr. West snorts, somewhat amused at my comment. "Making threats," he says to himself, writing a note on the clipboard. "Definitely interesting."

"Stop writing shit down!"

He pauses, peering at me over the top of the clipboard. "We'll trial her under group B. I think she's a good candidate."

"What would you like me to start with?" Dr. Cromwell asks.

"Immersion, please. I would probably take her now. The medication is wearing off and she's likely to become physically aggressive once she's fully mobile again."

Dr. West gestures to someone out of sight, the sound of footsteps approaching. I spot two men in their thirties, dressed in black. They move next to me as the doctors step back. They start unbuckling the straps, and when my legs are freed, I try to lift them. I manage to elevate them an inch or so before they fall back down onto the bed, the muscles straining.

What the hell did they do to me?

The men lift me from the bed despite my protests, sitting me down in a wheelchair. I hastily look over at Dr. West, his chestnut eyes watching on with interest as he twirls his pen. He's waiting for me to do something, observing me like a wild animal.

I finally notice his faded hair, the once brown strands now mixed with gray, aging lines on his face as he frowns with curiosity. He should know better, but something tells me he doesn't care.

The wheelchair is pushed away from the bed, Dr. Cromwell walking beside me as we head to a large metal door. She uses her key card to scan us through, punching in a code like the Lilydale doors.

Am I still in Lilydale? I would have to be, right?

If I was a betting woman, I'd wager we are underground like where the morgue is. Except the hallways don't look familiar as we push through. If anything, the walls look brighter, cleaner. The Lilydale staff don't care about the condition of the facility on the inside, but whatever this place is, is well maintained.

The wheels squeak quietly as we head to a large door down the corridor. Dr. Cromwell walks ahead, opening it for us as we reach it.

"What's going on?" I try to ask her, but one of the men puts a hand on my shoulder, silencing me.

"Don't speak unless you are spoken to," he scolds.

My head snaps toward him, taking in his stubble and vomit-green eyes. "Go fuck yourself."

"She's fine," Dr. Cromwell asks calmly. "Through here, please." She directs them to a side room, the light dimmer. I have to squint to look around, immediately finding a large steel tank in the center of the room. There's a lid on top with handles and a small hole, but I'm jolted away from it, abruptly stopping to face the wall.

I watch as Dr. Cromwell puts her clipboard on a counter before opening a drawer to pull out a sealed plastic bag. Behind me, I hear the sound of running water and I turn my head to spot one of the men lifting the lid off.

It's a bathtub?

"How would you like her?" the other man asks.

Dr. Cromwell looks at me, lips twitching in thought. "To her undergarments, please."

My eyes widen as he steps toward me, my voice rough as I shoot him a glare. "Don't you dare fucking touch me."

He ignores me, reaching under my arms to bring my numbed body forward. I let out a yelp when I feel his hands on my back, lifting my shirt up. Immediately, fear crashes through me, panic rising as he pulls my clothes off. I can't resist or fight back, my muscles and limbs heavy. When he goes to reach for my shorts, a soft hand touches my shoulder.

"You're safe, Avery."

---