Dr. Carter has been here for far too long. The darkened skies made his eyes wish to slip into slumber with the monotony. The filthy tiles, blackened by grime and nature crawling back inside through the cracks ate at his OCD. How he wanted to burn it all and start fresh, but he had no method of starting a fire. The hallways were littered with gurneys and surgical equipment from patients long gone, lost to his bouts of madness. Carter did not have any regret for the death of his colleagues, but he considered that doing it as a slower pace may have prevented being trapped in this little slice of Hell.
Carter reflected upon this while sitting at his old desk, feet propped up on top and leaning back in his padded office chair. It was well-worn, with the cherry oak finish faded and chipping at the corners, and indents from his heavy boots sinking deep into the left corner of the desk top. The sides had some engravings to make it more fanciful to the eye, but they were mostly destroyed, with Carter's tendency to hit the left side with his club in frustration every so often. He had just gotten back from yet another trial. Games, he referred to them as in private. It was all very predictable, and he barely even tried anymore. That was likely the reason the entity sent him after newer, less experienced souls. To get its fill without needing to correct his mediocre performance. It mattered little to him. What did matter was his research.
Lazily reaching am arm to one of the plentiful stacks of files, books, and pictures that littered his office, his hand slid and pulled off a haphazardly bound notebook, with scraps of paper stuck together using tree sap from the forests he was often placed in. It was the only thing besides the desk and chair that wasn't covered in a layer of dust thick enough to stop you from reading the titles of anything it coated. He opened the tome, tenderly as to avoid ripping the paper asunder and losing what he had collected over these many years. The most recent blank page wasn't so much a page as a piece of trashed paper, with no mates attached due to the sudden lacking amount of garbage littering the ground of the horrible trials. At least, trash he could repurpose.
He patted his stained coat pocket for a moment to make sure it was still in place, and he sighed internally from relief to feel the familiar cylinder shape pressed against the fabric. Looking both ways, he slyly took out a pen from his pocket. It was his prized possession. The entity had no use for writing in its world, and so utensils like these were hard to come by. A man of his profession though, never went anywhere without a pen or pencil of some kind, and on the day he was taken, it had remained. The last piece of Carter's connection to the world beyond. Relishing in the sound and feeling of the spring clicking, setting the pen point to write, he pressed down onto the sheet. The ink was thick and appeared, in the eternal night and fog, to have become a muddy brown. He logged his results for the day.
Trial 3541
It amazes me that the vocabulary from my past life applies so well to this place as well. Until now, I hadn't noticed the irony of listing each of these result sheets as trials. The modifications made to the electrodes in my arm was a complete failure. Reducing the voltage did not prevent the onset of hypermania in subjects, regardless of gender or race. The response from them from underwhelming. The majority fell into what I could only describe as a moment of clarity, laughing from what they presumed to be my weakness. Two subjects, however, had totally different behavioral modification. Subject Dwight expressed a sudden, uncharacteristic period of confidence and bravery after treatment application, allowing him to move faster than his normally shaky, hesitant strides. Subject Nea, meanwhile became incapacitated due to what appears to be multiple simultaneous muscle cramps.
Overall results: Unsuccessful, no meaningful change in state of mind or physical ability.
Next Trial: Lower voltage another 5 units. Attempt to apply treatment while in direct contact with subject.
Carter gingerly shut and replaced the notebook onto its place atop a pile of manuals for electrical and mechanical engineering. Right where it belonged. He slid his right hand across his face, instinctively parting his finger for his eyes. Tucking his prized pen back into his pocket, safe from inquiring eyes, he stood up and strode towards the exit. Sweeping up his club, now recharged with his body in direct contact, he left the darkened cell of his office to prepare for the next trial. With one last huff, he stomped down the hall. His eyes were drying out again.