And onto the end…
I was too busy watching my finger to even notice the redhead cutting a sliver or flesh from my left thigh. I shifted my eyes down to see him placing a bandage over the exposed muscle, before depositing the flesh on a tray next to a syringe filled with the reanimation serum, then carrying the contents to the doctor and the bitch. The syringe was emptied into my flesh and they once again analyzed the data. I was not kept in the room long enough to monitor the results this time and was carted off almost as quickly as I was brought in.
I gather that only an hour or two passed before they brought me back to the operating room. What I saw was astonishing. In the few hours since they had injected the flesh from my thigh with the regenerating liquid, it had managed to mutate, forming tiny bumps that it could wiggle to pull itself along. The doctors had their masks off, big mistake, and were laughing as they watched my flesh drag itself across the cold tile floor. Was that a sense of cold I felt in the hole where my skin had been removed? Continue reading