Reapers - Master of Souls (Reapers Chronicles Book III)

2 - Specimen

To Myles. (1963-2015) R.I.P.

(NP: Savin' Me by Nickelback)

A knee-jerk reflex woke me up. Again, my foot hit the glass wall of my not-so-spacious tank. My stomach turned upon realizing that it was all real.

Even in my dreams, I was remembering. Although I wouldn't consider it a healthy form of recreation, traumatic memories would beat reality any day.

I reminded myself that I was a prisoner now. Not by Alessandra. But by an equally-psycho dude.

The tank was real. The Swarth next tank was real too. Millie was real. Hector and his machines and his annoying obsession for all things white were all real.

"Don't worry, little doll," Hector's voice came through the speaker bolstered over my head. "This session is just like any other drills of the week. Nothing special. This isn't going to hurt... a lot."

"Oh, so that's your childhood? Dolls?"

Strobes of differently colored lights scanned me with a quiet beeping sound.

On the glass panel across from me, I could see my reflection. My left eye was a dull shade of green. Black flecks writhed from my pupil, wounding their way out to the whites.

Before I knew it, I was floating upside down.

"Put me down! You psycho!" I shrieked at Hector. "The instant I get out of here, I'll skin you alive!"

Unfazed, he glanced up at me. "Yeah, you do that."

Tainted life force wafted out of my skin like black smoke. And that smoke was slowly separating from my body, being sucked out by some invisible force. It felt like I was being torn apart into two.

A scream scraped out of my throat. And I kept screaming until I couldn't scream anymore. Until finally, he was done for the day.

"Interesting," he kept saying to the monitors as he worked furiously. Like always. "We're almost there."

But we never got there, whatever he was talking about.

Everyday just became worse and worse. Every day, he ripped me and my soul, taking pieces until it was barely a tattered rag. Every day would start with me throwing the foulest curses at him. Every day, I ended up broken and afraid. Then he would drown me in ectoplasm to heal my wounds. It wasn't my body though which needed mending. My brain did.

I knew right then I wasn't walking out of here the same, if at all.

The worst part? There was none. All of it was equally excruciating.

"Don't die on me yet, my little doll," Hector would always say, tapping the glass of my tank like he was goading some goldfish for his entertainment. "It would be a shame losing such a unique sample."

My hate for him grew and grew until I couldn't hate him anymore. It was getting tiring. I started to think that maybe this was my fate. Maybe I deserved this and I couldn't do anything about it.

Whenever Hector was gone, I begged Millie to set me free. But she always just looked at me with pity.

In my misery, I sometimes talked to the Swarth in the neighboring tank. Oftentimes, I talked to Alessandra, begging for help, but I might as well be talking to myself. Or God. Nobody bothered answering anymore.

At least, the Swarth swam closer to me whenever I spoke to it.

"I wish I die today," I told it one day. Then I began to cry. "Vincent's probably... d-dead by now."