The white florescent fixture on the ceiling fizzled and buzzed as hushed voices filled the room. The room was white and small. It had a long operating table in the middle, surrounded by three men in white coats.
 Beside the operating table were a series of computers with illuminated screens projecting 3D images, respirators that hissed and electronic gadgets which beeped every half-minute or so.
The room had two steel doors which were locked and manned on either side by two guards in black uniforms, armed with black assault rifles and standing in statue-like attention.

The voices in the room were that of the men in white coats. They mumbled amongst themselves as they worked on a man strapped down on the table. The man was naked under the white light which seemed to tear into his skin, illuminating every pore.

“Laser,” one of the men said, in a voice muffled by the surgical mask on his face. The laser hummed as the red beam cut into the arm of the man on the table. The machines  began to beep faster and the respirator hissed loudly. The body on the table began a slow movement, first with his legs and then his arm. In a moment, the body was already wriggling.

The men didn’t seem to panic. They merely exchanged glances and then one of them, a young man with dark eyes, walked slowly towards a trolley from which he took out a metal tray.

“Give him twice the dosage,” another man said, this one with white hair, and clearly the oldest of the three.

The man with the dark eyes nodded and tapped the syringe with his finger. He placed the needle on the neck of the wriggling body and injected a clear liquid. The wriggling soon became slow, the legs and arms straining against the straps, then the movement ceased completely.

He woke up with a loud gasp and coughed. He could hear hurried conversations around him, and loud bangs not too far from him.
He tried to move his arm but it felt restrained, and so did his legs. He was strapped to a table and he groaned as he struggled to free himself. The voices around him came faster; panicked. A moment later, there was a loud explosion which sent two steel doors across the room and crashing hard against the wall. The lighting began to flicker and soon the room was filled with thick, black smoke.

A man yelled but was immediately silenced as two gunshots rang through the air. He watched as a man wearing a white coat drew closer to him, holding the edge of the table. He glanced at the man and noticed the unmistakable fear in his eyes. The man was about to say something when a shot rang through the air. He grunted and his body fell forward, on the table.

Blood and brain mass, thick and soft, sprayed over his face, making him shut his eyes. Two more gunshots, and then fast footsteps approached him. The men wore black masks and black uniforms. His eyes burned from the fumes as he glanced at the men, two of them. He could almost see the burning glares through their masks. They were armed with silver handguns. He thought the guns were unnecessary, he was strapped to a table, after all.

“Get him up,” one of the men said in a rough voice and walked away. The other placed his gun into a holster strapped to his belt, and brought out a small knife in one swift motion. He whimpered the moment the glistening blade came into view. The man lifted the blade and swiped at him. He had his eyes closed as he waited for the pain to set in, but he felt nothing.

His arms felt better, although they ached from being restrained by the straps, which he was sure must have burned into his skin; he didn't have time to check.

 He watched the man who’d freed him, as he hid the blade. The man’s motion was deliberate and he had a certain grim air about him. He had no idea if this guy was his savior, but as he opened his mouth and made to speak, he saw the man’s arm swing towards his face. Before he could react, he felt a heavy blow against his face which made his head spin. Soon, all became dark.


He woke up yet again. He had no idea how long he’d been out. His body swayed from side to side, and the crates beside him rattled. He seemed to be in some sort of truck, he was sure; he could hear the loud backfire of an engine, and the screech of wheels against dirt. A man sat opposite him, watching him intently. The man was armed and wore the black uniform he remembered seeing—although, he just didn’t know how long it had been.

He wanted to ask about his location and what was really happening, but the intent look and bizarre scowl on the masked man didn’t seem to encourage questions. His hands were free, maybe that was a good thing, but then again maybe not—there was an armed man sitting just opposite him, they probably knew he could never try anything.

The vehicle hummed constantly and particles of dusts filtered into the back from a tiny slit on the door which seemed to be welded shut. He wondered how they’d gotten him here. Heck, he wondered about a lot of things, for example where was he and who were these guys?
He took a closer look at the armed man and noticed an imprinted sign on his vest: a white star which had a cross in it. He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the sign; he’d seen it before, but where?

Just then, the vehicle  bucked violently. He gasped and shifted forward, almost colliding into the armed man. No freaking seatbelts. The armed man shoved him back with his weapon and turned towards the sliding door, where raised voices could be heard.

He gripped the bench he was on and watched the armed man shuffle towards the door. He craned his neck and looked, as the door slid to the side. He noticed two things: they were in some sort of desert road, red and wide; the second was that something bad was about to happen. Neither of those things made him feel okay.

The door slid shut, leaving him alone in the back. He suddenly felt hot and his chest began to thump. It didn’t help that he was completely naked.
Neither did the nervous shouts from the men in front and the way the vehicle suddenly sped up. The vehicle bucked roughly to the side as if something had rammed into it. The wheels screeched and the red dust in the back soon became choking.

He coughed and stood on his feet, a task because of the way the vehicle swayed. He had his hand against a bar on the wall of the vehicle which he leaned into for support. It was then he saw it, just as his face plastered against the oily warmth of the vehicle, his eyes caught a small hole which he looked out through.

The hole, just a few inches wide, gave him enough view of the outside. He could see the dust guarding the side of the speeding truck and, to his horror, the wide stretch of yellow sand below; a drop he certainly hoped they didn’t make. But the truck was driving nervously close to the side of this of road, barely inches away from tilting to the side.

Just at that moment, while the men in front were still arguing in some strange dialect, the loud roar of vehicle drew closer to the side of the truck. He staggered to the side and pressed his body against the vehicle, looking for a small hole. He found one, and soon wished he hadn’t.
 He stared, frozen, his teeth clench and body bathed in perspiration, as a brown truck roared towards them. His mind worked quick and soon came to a probable conclusion: the truck would ram into them, send them rolling down the plains, and they would all die. And damn it, he was still naked. It was going to be one painful death.
Working solely on instincts, he pulled away from the side of the vehicle and rushed for one of the crate.
 He had no idea what he was doing, and he didn’t have time to find out because a second later, just as the truck made a desperate swerve to the right, there came another loud smashed and the vehicle rocked violently to the side.
He reached his hand for something—anything that could brace him as the vehicle became to tumbled downwards.
 The crates smashed into the walls of the vehicle, creating a gaping hole. Sharp sand poured in through that hole as he felt himself thrown against the walls and roof of the vehicle. The crashing noise was deafening, making his own grunts inaudible, even to him.
The vehicle came to a crashing stop minutes later.
He lay against a crate, his arm beneath the crushing weight of something he had no idea of. He groaned and heaved as he pushed against the weight on his arm.
 The object slowly shifted and soon fell off, his arm free. Immediately, the burning pain, like a million punches, rushed over his body and he screamed out loud

Read Episode Two Here