Dizziness overtakes me as I wake up. I can barely keep my eyes open. It's almost completely dark except for a dim light in the corner of the room. I try to move. It seems my hands are stuck on the table. What am I doing here? My head is also strapped down as well. As I struggle to get out of the straps, a blinding light gives me a headache and makes me squint. Footsteps come closer to me and I see a man with short hair and a wrinkly face look down at me. "Who are you?" I manage to speak weakly, my voice trembling. "Call me Dr. Manwell." He said. "Why am I here?" I speak louder. He walks around the table I'm on. "Well, Madison," He says, "I'm going to be using you as my test subject." "Huh?! Let me go!" I struggle hard to get out of the straps but it is no use. "What are you doing to do to me?!" I shout. "Quiet now, or I'll make this more painful than it needs to be." He holds up a needle with red liquid inside of it. "What is that?!" I shout. "Someone help me!" "Nobody is going to hear you darling. Now, sit still." He puts the needle into my vein and injects the liquid. He gives me two doses and I can feel my blood boiling. "What are you doing to me?!" I scream a bloodcurdling scream. "Now darling, just be quiet. Just wait." He takes off his white rubber gloves and throws them in the trash, and leaves the room. "Come back! Come back now! Tell me what you're doing to me!" The white light in the room goes off and I scream again, tears running down my face.

The night passes, and I cry myself to sleep, hungry with sore eyes and nobody to save me.

When I wake up the next day, I am dizzy again. This time, a woman is standing over me in a white nurse's outfit. Before I know what is going on, I scream for help, but all that I can manage to make is a gurgle sound. I can't feel my mouth. "Miss, I am so sorry. I came to give you breakfast." Breakfast? I don't want breakfast! I want to get out! I make another sound, but I can't manage to speak. She picks up a spoon and fills my mouth with a familiar taste: applesauce. I swallow it with effort, and she spoons another into my mouth. She also gives me a drink of milk, but that's all I get. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you any solid food. Dr. Manwell says it will interfere with your treatment." What treatment? I have to know what's happening to me!

The nurse leaves and I struggle to get up, but I am still on the same table with the same straps holding me down. Music starts to play, soothing music, and that's it. For the rest of the day, music like Beethoven played from a crappy speaker above me. I cried, stopped, and cried again. Every once in a while, the nurse would come back in and give me more food. Always applesauce and milk in the same portion size: about fifteen to twenty spoonfuls and one and a half cups of milk or water. Then at about the same time every night, Dr. Manwell would come in and tell me to be calm and to stay quiet, then he would inject me with that same red stuff, but he would give me one more needle of it than the night before.

After months, or maybe even a year of the mystery treatment, I stopped talking entirely. I stopped crying, and mourning. I stopped thinking, and feeling. Eventually I just stopped caring. I didn't care what happened to me. I didn't feel the pain of the red liquid or the want for my old life back. I would just stare, day after day, at the blank ceiling above me, looking into the bright light, not wishing or praying anymore for a hero to save me.

A nurse walks in today, this time, with no food. I stare at her. "Dr. Manwell says this is the end of your treatment." She says. "You've been here for a year and a half, and he says he thinks you're ready." I did not speak to her. She started undoing the straps on the table. Then she undid the one on my head. When it fell to the ground, I did not get up. "Let me help you get up." She pushed me forward and I sat up, my back aching, but not flinching at the pain. Instead, I rolled my head once and looked at her. She helped me stand, but my legs were too weak, so she put me in a wheelchair. My world was inside of the beige room, and leaving it made me feel uneasy, even though I should have wanted to escape.

She walked me calmly to another room, this one like my other room, but this one had more tools in it, but no bed. "I thought my treatment was over," I state, not used to hearing the sound of my voice. "It is... well, it might be. It depends on what happens in this room." "And what will happen if I do good or pass on whatever happens here?" I ask. "I don't know. I just hope you make it out alive." With that, the nurse leaves. I sit for about thirty or forty-five minutes until Dr. Manwell, the man I learned to hate, strolls into the room and puts on a pair of gloves. He is wearing protective gear from what I can see.

"Hello Madison," He greets in a casual way.

"Dr. Manwell."

"You're speaking again?"

"I guess so."

"Hm." He says. He grabs scissors and cuts open a bag, and pours it into a cup. As he turns, I see it's red liquid like the one he puts in my veins. "Drink this." He says. "So you're not injecting me with any more drugs?" I ask. "I was never injecting you with drugs. Drink it or I'll continue the treatment." I give him a glare and shakily reach up for the glass. As I take it in my hands, I almost drop it, and some of it spills onto my lap. He sighs and goes back to the counter to get a straw. He places the straw in my mouth and holds the cup under my face so I can drink.

After my first gulp of the liquid, I feel my throat burning and I know I need more. My hands quickly go to the glass and I clutch it over Manwell's hand, almost crushing it with force. He yells in pain as I finish the glass, then I shove it into him and say "More!"

He travels over to the counter again and puts more in the cup. This time, I am energetic and hungry. He rushes back over with cup and straw in hand and I take it from him. Putting the straw in my mouth, the liquid takes too long to get down my throat, so I throw the straw to the side and chug the liquid, spilling it over my chin in the process. I throw down the glass and it shatters on the floor, staining the ground with red. "I need more!" I shout at him, gripping the wheelchair I feel I no longer need. Fear in his eyes, he rushes over to the counter and hands me a bag that looks like it should be in a hospital, and I know what it is... it's human blood.

"What is this?!" I yell at him. "What the fuck have you turned me into?!" I look down at the bag to read the label:

B-POS

RED BLOOD CELLS

NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION

SPECIAL DONER

My throat burns again and I tear in to the bag, squeezing it to get it into my mouth faster. Suddenly, the doors burst open, and I stand, not weak this time. A man in a tweed jacket and a bow tie looks at me, then down to Manwell. I feel the urge to hiss, so I do, glaring at him with an evil look in my eyes: a hungry look. He suddenly lunges forward at me, but I'm not fast enough to get out of the way, and he injects something into my neck. Everything gets dizzy again and I pass out.