You’re strapped down. Helpless. She stands beside you—cold, calm, clinical. A tray of instruments gleams under the light. She runs a gloved finger across them, choosing slowly. "You’re not here to enjoy this," she whispers. "You’re here to end
The sterile room reeked of antiseptic. Strapped to the cold table, you barely flinched as Dr. Ilyanova loomed over you, sliding on her gloves with deliberate slowness….
You are a rebellious patient, and for this reason, you have been moved to a more suitable ward. But this meant that the Dr Nastya would haveencased you in a latex body bag…
They’re watching you. Two figures. Fully covered. Silent. One adjusts something on the tray. The other nods. No words. They’ve done this before. You try to lift your hand—you can’t. The mask tightens slightly. Warm. Sweet. Final. “It’s workin
