One thing I noticed as my senses began to return was the fact I couldn't move. I pealed back my eyelids with an unreal amount of force for such a simple task. But in my current dozed state, it was incredibly difficult.
The bright lights were blinding, forcing my eyelids to snap closed in the hope to dim the illumination.
The smell was pungent and founded on chemicals. It burned my nose and throat.
I slowly began to open my eyes to ensure they would adjust the the brightness. They did and I stared at the ceiling above me. The small cracks and stains. The cracks I understood, it was the weakening of the structure. But the stains didn't make sense.
But none of this really did.
I tried to take in my surroundings and what I could feel, see, hear and smell.
One of the more prominent feelings was the weight that went around my ankles, legs, torso, upper body, wrists, neck and head.
Analysing the situation I was forced to believe that the point was to keep me from moving, but also the straps felt cold. Reinforced to keep me contained.
I was so focused on how I was unable to move I didn't notice people start to prod and talk to me, until now.
I moved my eyes and attempted to look at all of them but I could only see a few.
"23 can you hear me?" One questioned.
I replied with a somewhat steady voice "yes I can hear you. Who are you?"
The question at the end earned me a slap across the face. If my head would move it would have jolted to the side, due to it not being the side of my face took the brunt force of it.
A stinging sensation was left where the hand once was.
"You do not ask questions." The man almost yelled, but seemed to keep his anger in control.
I mumbled a affirmative in response which he seemed pleased at.
The man I remember as 'Zola' approched and told the people surrounding me to "Begin testing."
The next hours, days were filled with pain. So much pain.
Time passed in a blur but the only constant was the pain.
The feeling of needles entering my skin only to withdraw a substance or to enter a new one.
The tearing of my skin as they took samples, testing how long it took them to heal.
By my own estimations it was not long. The cuts seemed to heal rather quickly, inducing these mad men to go over the same spot over and over again.
But the worst part had to be bone marrow samples. No pain medication was applied, no dulling of the pain. If anything it was more pronounced.
I could feel it all. The torment kept going. Crashing in waves.
Then it all stopped.
The torture. The talking the needles.
It came to a standstill.