Darkness. A dull, painful throb from the back of my head. My brain was swimming around inside my skull, equilibrium totally thrown off kilter. I tried to open my eyes, but a thin crust kept my eyelashes stuck together. My entire body felt cold. I slowly started to regain full cognitive awareness. I was sitting up, but felt awkward, like I was not fully upright. The chill in the air was palpable, and my body began to involuntarily shiver. It was at this point I realized I was naked. Where was I? I forced my eyes to open, flakes of something dry falling into them. I blinked them away, the harsh dryness causing my eyes to water. The room was totally black. There was a echo from somewhere far away. I could not make out the sound, but it almost reminded me of singing.
I heard the soft pitter patter of footsteps on tile. In the extreme darkness, my hearing was overly sensitive. Every tiny sound was magnified, rattling around in my input starved mind. There was a soft click, then a blinding light. I shut my eyes instinctively, the glare so powerful it hurt my retinas. A small gust of wind, somehow even colder than the room I was in, swept over me and showering me with the feeling of needles across my skin.
“Ah, you’re awake. Good, very good,” a soothing voice cooed to me from somewhere beyond the view of my eyelids. The voice was male, soft, almost feminine. “I knew you were a strong one. I do apologize for damaging you. It was necessary, I’m afraid.
I squinted through the pain, creaking an eye open. I was startled by what I saw. It was me. I blinked twice, thick layers of crust, which I now realized was dry blood, broke off in flakes and fell out of eyesight. My brain, swimming in a sea of nausea, slowly understood what was happening. I was looking in a large mirror placed in front of me. I was naked from head to toe, and strapped to a large metal table with thick, weathered leather straps. The table was inverted upright, with my feet dangling just inches off the floor. Blood matted my face and hair, so much so that it appeared I was wearing red paint from my scalp to my neck. The mirror was close enough to me that I could see myself in full view but could barely see anything around me. My brain processed every tiny detail it could absorb.
“Subject 18, Anthony Dao. Height, 1.89 meters. Weight, 98 kilograms. Asian male. Hair, brown. Eyes, brown. Subject sustained laceration to the back of the head during sedation,” the man cut his eyes ruefully at the wound I felt splitting my head. It began to throb as I grew more aware of my surroundings. I couldn’t turn my head, but I could shift my eyes to the left and right. He was still out of sight. All I could truly see was the white tiled floor, white walls, white roof, and the mirror showing my naked form.
“Subject 18 has rece
ived medical treatment and we will begin stage one of Project Golem.”
“Heeeeeeeeeey,” I rasped weakly. My throat was raw. It felt like I had swallowed sand. “Who are you? Where am I?”
“Such pointless questions, Mr. Dao. Or should I say, Subject 18. I do hate pointless questions. They are a pet peeve of mine, really. I would appreciate it if you ceased.” The accent was American, but rather nondescript. The flat vowels the only telltale sign I could distinguish. I heard a loud rattle as metal wheels dragged across the tile. Staring as far as my eyes could search, I still saw nothing. My headache began to compound as the glaring halogen lights beat down on me mercilessly. I began to break out in a cold sweat, unable to breathe properly from a panic which gripped my chest. I started to pant like a dog. “Onset of tachypnea, perhaps due to circumstance. No previous record of medical issue. Administering oxygen to Subject 18,” the voice said. Who was he talking to?
Suddenly, a hand came into view. It was gloved, with a white sleeve covering the skin of the forearm. A clear medical mask with a hose attached to it was slapped roughly over my mouth and nose. An unseen second hand forced a strap around my head. It got caught in my matted hair and pulled it painfully. I took a deep breath, the enhanced air causing my breathing to slow. A needle pierced my neck, the prick administered with no empathy at all. A small squirt of blood shot out of the opening before being covered with a small cotton ball and tape.
“What… is… that…” I asked, my own breath smashing into the mask and fogging it up.
“Ah, an educational question. Very good, Subject 18. This is a mixture of Benadryl, haloperidol, and lorazepam. It will relax you. I need you awake, Subject 18. It’s very important. But a bit of relaxation is deserved, I think.”
“Why… my neck… not… arm?” My heart rate, through the roof just moments ago, began to slow a bit. I felt a warm sensation race from my head down my chest and into my arms. I knew my accelerated heartbeat was pumping the chemicals through my system faster. My eyelids became heavy, but not sleepy. It was such a confusing sensation.
“Oh, now now. Back to the peeve. That’s strike two, Subject 18,” the man said. I heard a soft click, and the whirr of something that reminded me of a power tool. I felt my pulse elevate again. “We will now begin with the shoulder disarticulation.” Before I could even ask what that was, a scalpel was placed against my right shoulder. It quickly sliced my flesh, deeply and neatly. Blood poured from the open incision. Pain set in a second later, my own scream ripping my raw throat. I could see every movement as the blade efficiently sliced me apart to the bone. I could see my own shoulder, the joint itself. My mind screamed at me to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. It was like the primal curiosity of a person when they see something horrible, except I was the victim. Blood gushed openly as my upper arm was flayed out. A quick whirrrrr sound, and a handheld circular saw appeared next to my mangled arm. I screamed again as the blade brutally tore into my bones, yellow white dust flying into my face. A bolt of lightning ripped through my body straight to my head. The last thing I heard as I passed out was the sound of wet meat slapping against a cold floor.
Pain, like a rabid animal, dragged my soul back to consciousness. My neck was stiff, and my arms were numb. Darkness again. This time, I knew it was because the room lights were off. I had no way to fell the passage of time. My body was wracked with waves of electricity, almost like tiny static shocks. I couldn’t see anything and had no idea where it was coming from. Through the mental haze, I heard the same singing. I focused through the fog, listening intently for something familiar.
“… Will you please say hello, to the folks that I know…”
The melody was pleasant, with a soft crackle caused by an old needle from a record player. I knew that because my grandmother had a record player in her home. But I didn’t know the song or the artist.
“We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when… But I know we’ll meet again…”
The same pattern of footsteps, slowly growing louder.
“They’ll be happy to know, that as I saw you go, you were singing this song.”
I knew what was coming, so I slammed my eyes shut. They faint illumination peeked through my skin, announcing the ignition of the halogen bulbs above. The door opened and the footsteps closely followed. They thundered in my eardrums, each one louder and louder. My entire body screamed at me to run. I tried to move, but I was strapped in so tightly I could not even wiggle. The thick bands began to rub my flesh raw. I lost control of my breathing again. Short, panicked bursts of air in and out, barely supplying enough oxygen for me to function. Finally, with every fiber of my fight or flight response yelling at me to run, I opened my eyes. I wish I hadn’t.
My head was shaved. The gash on my scalp had been crudely stapled shut, with fresh globs of dried blood caking around it. I stared into my own eyes. They were sunken into my head. My cheeks were sharp, and my face was gaunt. Large, dark circles hung almost to my nostrils. I kept looking into my own eyes, afraid to look any further. I willed myself to check. To see what had happened. My line of sight slowly drifted down my neck to my chest, then over to my… My arm. No, not my arm. Nor the other. My arms were… gone.
In their place were thick metal appendages. They hung past my knees. Huge, metallic limbs with exposed wiring and tubes. A massive piston jointed where my biceps would have been to the forearm. A massive bundle of wires was draped over my trapezius, the bundle joining in some sort of plug. The metal shimmered in the cold light. My skin was blackened at the edges where flesh met steel. I could smell the telltale hint of cooked meat. Both arms were the same, except the hands. The right ended in a menagerie of tools, with some sort of rotating gimble where the wrist should have been. The left ended in an oversized, eight-digit claw.
“Good morning, Subject 18. I hope you have enjoyed a restful few days in recovery. Your blood tests are back, and it appears your body has not rejected the implants. Very good. Very, very good indeed,” the voice told me. I knew he was somewhere behind me. I could feel his presence in the room. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the abominable structures on my body. “Subject 18 showing mental distress, but physically appears normal. Tell me, Subject 18, do you feel discomfort?” Rage swelled in my stomach, pushing pain to the side for a moment. A pit opened in my stomach, possibly from a lack of food as much as anger.
“Dis… discomfort? You cut my arms off, you… you… who the fuck are you?” I heard my own words bounce off the mirror and disperse around me. There was a sudden silence. It filled the room like a burst of hot air. I was suddenly very afraid.
“Strike three, Subject 18. Tsk tsk tsk. I knew I would have to do it eventually.” I heard the scrape of metal on metal. But what could that sound have been? I had heard it earlier, right before-
A hand grabbed my mouth by the lower jaw and four fingers buried themselves into it. I tried to bite down, but they filled it completely. I gagged by reflex, spit dribbling off my chin. I felt the fingers clamp down on my tongue. It was pulled out as far as it could go. I tried to wriggle it free, like a fish from the grasp of a hungry bear. The scalpel sliced through it in one clean stroke, cutting off part of my lower lip in the process. Blood filled my mouth and began to run down my throat. I coughed huge spouts of it, splattering on the mirror and on my torso. I tried to scream, but all that came out was streams of crimson. The soft pitter patter of feet, and the scraping of metal again.
I felt my mind drag at the edge of sanity. What was happening to me? Why was this happening to me? What had I done to deserve this? Questions I yearned to ask but couldn’t. I felt the stump painfully drag against my own teeth in my mouth. Tears ran freely down my cheeks, and I tried to shake myself loose from my restraints. They dug into my skin until they, too, drew blood. The restraint around my head was removed, and I flailed it until I gave myself whiplash.
I could see the room better now, antiseptic white except for puddles of red-brown around me. I saw the table which had been dragged to just out of my view on the right side. It was stainless steel, about four feet across, with innumerable tools of an unknown nature on them. I caught just the slightest glimpse of a human figure in black pants and what I thought might have been an apron before a forearm and elbow crashed into the side of my head, forcing me to look left. It stayed in place as the man began to speak.
“Subject 18 has received amputation of the lingua. Due to his combative nature, lingual veins cannot be sealed at this time. Note for later, order five more bags of B positive. Beginning stage two of Project Golem.”
I felt cold metal grind against the right side of my head and a power drill buzzed to life. A metal plate was directly above my ear, wrapping around to the back of my neck. The drill met the plate and four screws burrowed deep into me until I could hear the cracking of my own skull. The forearm vanished, and I tried to look again. The leather strap wrapped around my forehead once again, the ratcheting sound pulling it tightly until I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at myself.
I could see a small opening on it the rear of the plate, just in the corner of my eye. I tried to scream again, but nothing came out of my mouth that sounded human. I heard wheels on tile again, and this time something appeared to my left. It was some sort of stand, holding what looked like a long, thin cage. It reminded me of what a snake skeleton would look like if it were made of metal.
“Do you know what this is, Subject 18? Oh, why ask? You cannot answer. How inconsiderate of me. This is a custom intervertebral fusion cage, made just for you. I am going to attach this to you, from the base of your skull to your hips. It will help support the extra weight.” I was drowning in my own thoughts. I felt myself slipping deeper off the edge of sanity. I felt the table I was strapped to move ever so slightly. Cold air rushed over my bare back. The man had opened some sort of panel in the table, revealing the back of my torso.
“You will have to be awake for this, also. I know it will be uncomfortable, Subject 18. But it is necessary,” the man whispered to me gently. I could feel his hot breath on my skin, causing it to ripple in gooseflesh. Another needle, this time far larger than the first, directly in the neck. For several hours, I faded in and out of consciousness. I could every cut, every incision. I felt the drill core out swathes of bone, and I felt every hammer stroke as he pounded metal rods into the vertebrae to position the cage around my spine. I heard the steady beep of machinery which I could not see. I woke up, groggy and dazed. The air smelled of death. I thought it might have been my own body odor. Or perhaps I had died, and I was smelling my own corpse from the afterlife.
I opened my eyes to see that I was in the same room, only this time the lights were on. I stared into the soulless eyes of a petite man, about forty years old. They were dark and black, like a doll’s eyes. A bandana or cloth covered his hair. A surgical mask covered his nose and mouth. He was affixing a massive piece of steel, hollowed out in sections to resemble a metal rib cage, over my chest. He picked up a drill and slowly, methodically, pushed sixteen screws through the breastplate into my ribs, one at a time, with a single massive bolt grinding into my sternum. It hurt to breathe. I couldn’t open my mouth. It was stuck. Something warm dribbled down my throat, a thick, mucus-like liquid that choked me as it slowly slid into my stomach. It burned all the way down, not from heat, but from an acidic quality that reminded me of regurgitated bile.
The man’s gloved hands connected a series of wires to the breastplate from the arms, tugging them from somewhere behind my head. He stepped away after a few more moments of adjusting, each tiny movement causing searing pain. I stared, almost blankly, as the mangled form that used to be me. My mouth had been sewn shut and my lips cauterized into a formless line of scar tissue. Two tubes ran out of the mass of flesh to something behind me. A disgusting brown liquid filled them, and I could see tiny bubbles moving inside as the liquid was pumped into my stomach. I vaguely, in some distant part of my mind that still remembered normal life, noted that I wasn’t hungry any longer. A tangle of multicolored wires connected my arms to my head. The man sat just in my field of view, touching his chin thoughtfully with a bloody glove, but he didn’t seem to mind. He stepped out of sight and returned momentarily with a scalpel. With quick, precise movements, he removed my eyelids, letting each plop on the floor.
He clasped his hands together and what I imagined was a smile spread out from behind the mask. He stepped behind the table and a mechanical sound reverberated through the room. The table slowly leaned back and tilted flat. I stared at an antiseptic ceiling, unable to close my eyes any longer. Through the agony, I pondered the possibility that this was a horrible dream. Perhaps this was just some nightmare from the deepest parts of my mind. I wondered if I was still cold.
“Next, I will be severing Subject 18’s amygdala, to prevent any future emotional responses. I will be leaving the hippocampus intact, but I will also perform a base level removal of part of the prefrontal cortex. A series of processors will also be installed to help interface the new augmentations to Subject 18’s brain. We will begin stage three of Project Golem.”
The soft whirring of the small saw made my ears itch. The crunch as my skull was severed barely registered anymore, and I hardly acknowledged the pain I might have been experienced. I watched, with no choice, as he installed a series of wires, and what I thought might be computer parts to my head. I heard the soft squish as he pressed something directly into my brain. A semi-opaque liquid dribbled into my eye and down the side of my nose.
“Subject 18, I want you to know, you have performed remarkably. I expect great things from you.” He sat back a bit, towering over me like an ominous mountain. “I imagine you are wondering, ‘why me?’ ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ Several Subjects asked these questions. I want you to know, you have done nothing to deserve such a great pain. To have your mind broken. To have your body molded into something more than you once were. Sometimes, Subject 18, bad things just happen to good people.”
A searing hot burst of pain, deep in my brain. I felt myself slipping away. Falling into an abyss. I couldn’t remember what I used to look like. What my name was. I felt a massive stream of data suddenly pass though my minds eye. I could see hallways, other rooms, storage. I felt myself connected to the very building I was in. I felt the electricity through the very cables that wired the walls. I was online. I was connected. More connected to anything I had ever been in my old life. I felt my mind shutting down. My soul going dark. A primal part of my mind took over again. Fight or flight. But I couldn’t move. Must get out. Escape. Escape. Get help. Scream. No. Run. No. Fight. No. Panic. I couldn’t even hyperventilate because of the crushing weight of the steel on my chest.
Access_Internet
Wifi: unityproductsinc
Password: ProjectGolem
Access Granted
Open Google_Chrome
Open Google
www.reddit/nosleep
Send torture.exe
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https://youtu.be/HsM_VmN6ytk