Waking up on an operating table is never fun, especially when you have no clue why you’re here.

Your eyelids twitch. Something smells like metal. And rubbing alcohol.
The light is so bright it feels like it’s inside your skull, buzzing as the blinding white flickers above. You can try to lift your arms — but they don’t move. Strapped. Your breath kicks. Try to scream, it’s impossible, throat dry, clogged almost. Your tongue tastes like cotton and iron. Breathe in, out, breathe again. Then you hear it. The sound of gloves snapping on.

— “Ah, you’re awake..” —