January 2: Unwitting Test Subject. Someone's running an experiment, but they didn't bother to inform anybody first. Could be lighthearted or quite grim - your choice. (500 words)
Dr. Christian Troy couldn't remember being more frightened. There were a few other times in his life when he'd woken up restrained, but all of those he had been able to handle. This time was different. His vision was blurred and he winced against the bright lights as he tried to take stock of his surroundings. His head was pounding. He knew he probably had a concussion and had been knocked out by something, but what?
"Nice to see you're finally joining us."
Quentin Costa came into view before him and Christian's blood ran cold. He'd already lived through this before and it had nearly cost him his hand. They'd left the Carver behind when they left Miami for Los Angeles and Quentin had disappeared. There had always been this unsettled feeling within him that things weren't over, but he had hoped a fresh start would have put all of that behind him. Now, he knew just how wrong he was. He realized he was strapped down to the operating table in his own practice and he struggled against the restraints.
"What? No warm welcome?" Quentin asked him as he approached. He was dressed for surgery, but he already had blood splatter on his surgical scrubs. "That's alright. Sean wasn't very chatty either."
Sean. Christian felt panic rise within him and he tried to turn his head to see around the room. He caught sight of another operating table a few feet away with Sean strapped down much the same. Christian couldn't see exactly what had been done to his best friend, but he was certain the blood belonged to him.
"You're not going to get away with whatever this is, Quentin. Not again," He warned him and Quentin leaned down close to him.
"Oh, I think I will. Neither of you learned your lesson before, so maybe it's time for another one," Quentin said. He reached over to the rolling cart to get a fresh scalpel.
"Sean! Sean!" Christian yelled for him, trying to rouse him or at least see if Quentin had left him alive. "Someone help!"
"Scream all you'd like. Everyone else has gone home and I don't think Sean's going to be waking up anytime soon. He passed out after the amputation of the first few fingers. Went into shock, the poor thing," He mentioned to him as casually as if he'd been talking about the weather.
Christian strained to look over at his best friend again, trying to verify if what Quentin was saying was true. He could see upon second glance that there were bloody bandages on Sean's hands, but that was hardly confirmation. Part of him knew he wasn't one to bluff and he looked away again, feeling sickened at the thought.
"What are you going to do with me? Cut off my hands?" Christian asked him and Quentin smiled.
"No... I've already ensured Sean will never operate again and we both know he was the real talent in your partnership. You're the charm... the looks... the salesman that lures in every insecure set of tits into this place and into your bed," He told him. "I've taken Sean's greatest assets from him and now, I'm going to take yours. When I'm finished with you, you'll finally understand what it is to have someone see beneath the vapid veneer and just how ugly you really are, Christian. Now... where to start?"
Christian could tell from his tone that he wasn't just talking about disfiguring his face by taking his 'assets' and he futilely struggled against the restraints again as the scalpel neared him.
"I think we'll start with the face and work our way down," Quentin mused. "Beauty is a curse on the world." He lowered the blade and made the first cut.