The gurney wheels oscillated and ground down onto the concrete below. On top was an imp, restrained by his wrists and ankles. The straps rubbed these joints raw, the skin having become callused from the constant burning of skin against leather. The fluorescent lights ran above. Like a wave, the illumination of the crew, the imp and his grisly injuries, undulated back… and forth.
The four-wheeled contraption was pushed through a set of double doors into a sterile operating theatre. Whites and beiges clouded the scene, combined with the blue of sterile draping and the stains of brownish film around the drains on the floor. The theatre absolutely reeked of alcohol… iodine.
Dr. Albright, scrubbed in and unrecognisable, held his hands aloft to prevent contamination. "Thank you, nurses. Are the restraints on?" He walked around the demonic entity, squinting and checking the leather straps. "…good." He looked at the clock. "Right, let's go."
The anesthesiologist placed the mask on, elastic wrapping around the imp's face. Dr. Albright turned to wheel his tool cart around, sterile draping a background to the steel of scalpels, forceps, and the white of gauze. One of the tools was a circular electric saw. This macabre dance, the waltz of preparing for surgery, had been done multiple times with the same subject. The only difference seemed to be a slight hesitation from the anesthesiologist, which only a nurse observed.
Despite this aberration, the nurses continued, deftly placing electrode leads on specific parts of the imp's chest. The electrocardiogram began to run. Sinus rhythm. The pulse oximeter was carefully placed on the demon's finger. Their blood oxygen saturation was normal.
The surgeon furrowed his brow looking at the monitor. He was looking for any discrepancy… but could find none. "…looks like we're… good to go."
"Uh, sir?"
The attending swung his head around. "What?"
"The leg restraints are on its ankles."
"So?" Dr. Albright stared down at the imp's legs… before remembering what operation he was doing. "…ah, fuck, you're right." He again gazed at the clock. "Are there any anchor points for a thigh restraint?"
The anesthesiologist walked to the side of the gurney to look with the doctor. "Hm… you maaay be able to hook it through that gap there, tie it around." He pointed to the area he was discussing while doing something with his other hand. It was unnoticed.
The surgeon darted his eyes around. "…do we have an extra restraint?" The nurses joined in the effort… before shaking their head. "Ah, goddamnit… well, I'm not scrubbing in again. Take that restraint off the left ankle, use that one."
One of the nurses timidly spoke up. "Are you sure?"
The anesthesiologist did as the doctor said, unbuckling the left ankle restraint and slipping the leather out of its designated slot in the gurney. He handed it to Dr. Albright.
The doctor wrapped the leather belt around the demon's thigh, but just before he could secure it, the monitor began beeping. A slow, methodical alarm. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. The human flinched, his head darting up to look at it. "SpO2 SENSOR OFF". It flashed yellow in the top left corner. All vitals, aside from that, looked normal.
He flicked his gaze down. As expected, the pulse oximeter had fallen off the imp's finger. It was an easy fix. He grabbed it, opened it up, and went to place it back where it belonged.
Dr. Albright's eyes meandered to the imp's face. Their eyes met. Red, piercing, sclera tinged with yellow. This was unlike the last time. The demon didn't wake up confused or begging. His gaze was stony, resolute.
The human had barely enough time to comprehend what had happened before the imp moved. All at once, the demon swung his arm over. Dr. Albright felt a deep scratch going across his neck. Liquid squirted and oozed from the cut. He tried to take a breath, but his neck could only hiss as the waterfall outside leaked into his throat.
The doctor stumbled back. Panic shot into his eyes and he grasped at the incision. His blue nitrile gloves were immediately soaked red. Another breath in, another intake of vital fluid into his lungs. He slipped on the blood pooling on the floor, hitting his head against the wall and sliding down.
The imp's restraints were made useless through the smallest manipulation; the metal rod meant to hook into the holes in the belt were taken out, dragging against the leather feebly, providing no resistance. All three restraints secured to the gurney slipped off the imp's ankle and wrists, while the restraint on his thigh had yet to be secured. For the first time in a month, the demon stood up on his own volition.
Inside the imp's hand was a scalpel, dripping with blood. His eyes were frenzied, a suture having already come loose on the demon's lacerated skin. Blitzo sprinted towards the doctor. The bane of his existence, the man who mutilated him. The gritting of his teeth gave way to an animalistic scream, a morbid mixture of anger and pain, as he tackled the mortally wounded human and began frantically stabbing into his flesh.
Slash after slash, puncture after puncture. His movements were erratic, uncoordinated. The nurses and anesthesiologist, trained with mutilating imp flesh, were not given the lesson in carving an awake, unrestrained one. Therefore, upon the first sight of a screaming, bleeding, murderously violent demon, they fled the scene, leaving Dr. Albright to his devices. Some of the staff would be more accepting of his impending demise than others, yet none felt the compulsion to risk their own life to save him.
Delicate structures on the human's face and neck were cut open, carved into, the wailing of a month of torment echoing through the cold walls of the operating theatre. The doctor could only gurgle in response, feebly trying to cover his face, eliciting gashes into his palms.
The blade of the scalpel broke off into him, and the imp chucked it away, grabbing the front of the surgeon's bloodied face and slamming the head back against the wall. Over and over again, the back of the skull broke against veneered concrete, denting, crunching. Crimson splattered behind, a Pollock painting centered around the human's ruined flesh.
The movements from the imp had carved him up too; stitches flew out and his weakened muscles strained against the remaining ones. He barely felt it, having been numbed of the pain with whatever he was injected with, yet he could feel the trickle of fluids out of his wounds.
Dr. Albright's life, whatever semblance was left, ended not with a bang or a whimper, but with a sickening crack and a soft thud against the floor. He slumped over. The flow of blood had slowed to a pathetic drizzle.
Blitzo's hands slipped off the corpse. Whatever stimulants were flowing in his system suppressed any calm, any catharsis he may have felt for murdering his tormentor. He quickly rounded to the other end of the gurney, searching for the tools of his further vengeance.
The security guard on shift, originally meant to be always in his room watching the cameras, had succumbed to a concept known as the 'normalisation of deviance'. So little had occurred in the facility that needed the help of security that numerous breaks were acceptable, even encouraged, and it didn't help that they hired someone with a smoking habit.
It took a span of five seconds from the security guard's first observance of what had happened in OR-2 for the facility's alarm to be activated.
The operating theatre's lights went red, and shockingly loud sirens blared in the hallways. Blitzo grabbed the staple gun off the instrument tray and ran out. Corridors. Straight, yet winding, corners obstructing his vision. He looked over his shoulder. Aside from the arrangement of the hallways, there was little difference between what was in front and what was behind.
Shadowy forms began creeping through a passage to the side. Footsteps, numerous. The imp scurried into one of the halls to take cover.
He peeked out. Humans, head to toe in fatigues and plate carriers, rifles in hand. They stopped at the junction where several of the liminal spaces met. One of them began pointing. "Squad Alpha, block the entrance to the portal room. Bravo, go secure the grimoire. Gamma, check the operating theatre."
The leader was gesturing to each squad in the direction they needed to go. Portal room to the left, grimoire forward. Once the human pointed to Blitzo's direction, the demon recoiled his head back behind the wall. The footsteps were getting closer, equipment slapping against their camouflaged clothes.
Soon, the footsteps gave way to a physical presence, and the humans rounded the corner.