I shook my head upon awakening to stop the world from spinning.
"Ugh..." I slouched my head forward, "am I…still alive?"
Once I became more aware, I was greeted by a familiar scent in the air. It was putrid and stale, with a metallic finish. It was the smell of rotting blood.
Moving was futile; my hands and legs were bound to a slanted wooden shelf. My skin around the leather straps ran red and purple from their tightness.
They removed all my remaining gear, leaving me with wretched rags in place of my pants and shirt. I suppose I should be thankful for that, at least.
I scanned the room for the smell's origin, foolishly thinking I'd already seen the worst humanity had to offer. That no matter what disturbing sight awaited me, I could withstand it.
When I saw it, I couldn't help but gag. 'Can humans really do this?!'
Several human torsos, completely stripped of their skin and limbs, were suspended from rusted metal hooks over a bloody trough.
Adjacent to the blood-filled container was a workbench showcasing dozens of stained surgical instruments.
Most concerning were the cleavers and paring knives scattered across the table. None of which were tools of surgery.
Every emergency sense I developed over my life was howling, and thoughts of escape assailed my mind.
I considered over a dozen strategies to escape, all with my countrymen, all more impossible than the last. If I left alone, I had a chance, but I couldn't leave them. Something inside me wouldn't allow it.
It didn't matter; my planning was stomped out by the sound of footsteps clacking against the stone floor.
"Ah, so you've woken up." The voice was calm and casual. Almost as if we weren't in a room filled with the pungent odor of decayed bodies.
I turned to see a sickly old man staring back at me, his eyes trembling with insanity.
Decorating his skin were dozens of scars and grotesque stitching. He wore them as naturally as you'd wear a t-shirt. His actual clothing consisted of a tattered lab coat and crude shorts. His hands, unnervingly, were dyed red with dried blood.
He noticed my stare at his scars. "Ooh, noticing my exquisites, are you? I'm quite fond of them. I'm glad a connoisseur such as yourself can appreciate my art!" His smile was crazed, revealing crooked teeth and bloodied gums.
pαпdα-ňᴏνê|·сóМ Given his appearance, I imagined he was responsible for those drained carcasses. I needed to keep him talking if I wanted to live.
"Connoisseur?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"
He laughed. "Why, I'm talking about you, of course! I mean, look at you! You're covered from head to toe with such lovely adornments to your flesh. Stab wounds, slash wounds, burn wounds, unidentifiable wounds. You're amazing! I'll admit it… I'm envious!"
He leaned in closer, studying my scars with an intensifying gaze.
I quickly discovered his emotional range was as unstable as his words.
When he visually dissected me, he expressed anger, happiness, sadness, and envy. Each step was more disturbing than the last.
"If I'm such an idol…would you mind freeing me?" I knew it was a long shot, but if war taught me anything, survival was all about chance.
You better believe I'd take every single one I could.
He gawked at me and my question in silence, registering what I asked.
When he finally returned to the conversation, he looked at me with a cringe. "Oh, I don't mind at all! But... I'm sure Lady Vlad would, so I won't. Although just thinking about the consequences I'd suffer… The profound pain I'd be feeling…ENVIOUS!" He violently squirmed and clenched his face.
Even though I hadn't gotten my hopes up, I felt disappointed. "I thought that'd be the case," I sighed.
His expression looked as if he were genuinely sorry, but it was short-lived. "Yes, many apologies, fellow connoisseur! Oh, but my name, I can give you my name!" He began bouncing up and down with excitement.
I couldn't let him take control of the conversation. If I did and he ended it, it would be game over for me. So I refused his offer. "No, tha-"
But he wasn't deterred by my refusal. Hell, he didn't even wait for it. "My name is Malgam! I've been assigned as your caretaker. Isn't that fantastic!" His eyes, fingers, arms, and legs were all trembling chaotically.
I had to steer him back, so I addressed him. "Okay… Malg-"
"Yes!" He interrupted.
"Malgam…" I continued. "What are you planning?" He seemed like the talkative type…and was thoroughly insane, so I assumed extracting information would be a cinch.
"What am I planning?" He fidgeted his fingers and tilted his head at an irregular angle.
"What…do you plan to do with me?"
"Oh, that! Yes, yes, yes," He brought a scalpel out from his coat pocket, "I plan to harvest you, of course!" He angled his scalpel and lightly slid it across my chest, venting streaks of blood. "I'm going to extract your heart, well, other heart."
My other heart? I vaguely recalled hearing something about that. What was it again? It was something Weiser said. I dug through my memories and felt the fog in my mind lift with my epiphany. "So, you're trying to harvest my second heart."
He seized my shoulders. "Yes, that is absolutely correct!" He left traces of spittle on my face as he shouted. "Leave it to a fellow connoisseur; you're quick to understand!"
He turned and traveled to the blade-strewn workbench.
It took all of my concentration to remain calm. The threat of death was one thing; it was something I lived with for years. The idea of being dissected while still alive, though? That was enough to make a grown man cry.
I shook my head to keep focus. "Mal-"
"Yes!" He shouted.
"Malgam...why do you want to harvest my second heart?" Though I asked, I knew the answer.
Organ trafficking wasn't uncommon in my homeland either, so maybe I could have bargained my way out.
He ran back to me, his eyes consumed in a new frenzy. Now inches from my face, he hyperventilated as if he had just run a marathon. I wasn't sure which was more toxic, the stench of rotting bodies or his breath.
"Why to eat, of course!" he shouted with an open-mouthed smile.
'To…eat?' The thought sent shivers through my spine.
With the new information, it all made sense.
The hanging torsos. The blood trough for draining them. The cleavers and paring knives… I thought I'd already seen everything. From torture to firing squads to prison camps, I always figured it couldn't get worse. But…cannibalism?
Gagging wasn't the end of it. The thought of a man eating another turned to stomach convulsions, ejecting what little I had in my gut across the floor.
Malgam cackled. "Someone is getting a little excited, huh? I'll admit," he smirked, "I'm envious of you."
Dread welled up within me like an overloaded valve. But I couldn't afford to let it take control. If the panic consumed me, then these damn cannibals would too!
I exchanged a glare with Malgam and made a silent vow. I, and my countrymen, were going to escape.
'I'll kill anyone that stands in my way.'
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