[Sasha Girl]

When I next come to, my ears are still ringing. I can’t have been out for long, but then it doesn’t take long to inject a lethal dose of whatever drug the Surgeon was using. Convinced that all hope is lost, I let out a loud whimper – whereupon a deep, distinctly male voice says:

“Hey everyone, she’s coming around!”

My hearing may be slightly impaired at the moment, but there’s one thing I am sure of: the speaker is a stranger. Cautiously, I open my eyes, to find myself looking at a handsome young man with short-cropped blonde hair and the most striking green pupils I’ve ever seen. While I stare at him in surprise, he flashes me a smile, saying:

“Agent Patterson, I presume? Don’t worry – you’re safe now. Though I really should apologise for taking so long to get here. Another minute and we would’ve been too late.”

As he speaks, he reaches across his chest and pulls a large semi-automatic from his shoulder. Tracking the movement with wide eyes, I notice for the first time that we’re not alone. Behind the stranger are a dozen men just like him – in other words, tall, muscly and dressed all in black. They are all heavily armed and at first I think they are with the FBI or the secret services. But then I see there are no bold, white letters on their vests, no insignia of any kind. Baffled, I watch them gathering around me, not unlike a pack of wolves. When they pull out their long hunting knives and start slicing through my straps, I can take it no longer.

“Who are you guys?” I ask, shakily. Some of the men smirk at this, which makes me nervous as hell. I turn my gaze on the blonde man that first spoke to me. “You’re their leader, right? Please, tell me what’s going on.”

The young man fixes me with his green gaze, his expression serious. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that, right now. As you’re no doubt aware, this entire building is bugged… and so are you, unfortunately.” So saying, he pulls the blanket off me.

“Please, don’t,” I cry, but it’s too late. As my naked, heavily scarred body is revealed, there is a series of soft whistles from the men. It’s the only commentary they make, but it’s enough. Blushing with embarrassment, I hasten to cover my breasts, using my one good arm. “Please, can I have the covers back?”

They frown at me as though offended. Otherwise, they ignore me.

“You’re wounded,” the young man says, pointing out the obvious. Leaning in close, he lifts the gauze from my shoulder and examines it briefly. Presently, he declares: “The bullet’s still inside. Someone pass me a scalpel and some forceps.”

All of a sudden, I feel nauseous. But when I close my eyes, he snaps at me: “Stay with me, Jane. Keep your eyes peeled.”

I don’t really want to, but I do as he says. He smiles at me reassuringly and I smile back. I am far from satisfied, however, and he knows it. After a short pause to gather my thoughts, I decide to try again.

“Please, at least tell me your name.” I gaze at him imploringly, and it makes him smile again, even while he shakes his head.

“If I tell you, do you promise to stop asking questions?” His green eyes sparkle as he asks this, reinforcing the feeling of camaraderie that has been growing inside me for several minutes now. I nod slowly and watch his smile widen. Then he is leaning forward, taking my hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m Wolfgang,” he says, softly. “Pleased to meet you.”

There is something irresistibly charming about him in this moment, so that I have trouble replying straight away. Before I can recover, the men are back with the instruments he asked for. One of them pushes something between my teeth – a piece of leather, as it turns out – saying: “Bite down on this.”

I obey instantly, for I can already see the scalpel in Wolfgang’s hand, descending toward the wound. I try to steel myself for what is coming, but when the metal slices into my flesh I cry out in pain, my body jerking violently.

“Hold her down!” he shouts and four pairs of hands grab me simultaneously, around my legs and arms both. They are incredibly strong, immobilising me most effectively despite the pain. In next to no time, the cut is finished and the forceps are digging inside the wound, searching for the piece of metal embedded there. I moan and cry throughout the procedure, until finally I hear Wolfgang say: “Got it!”

Thank fuck for that, I think – and then, I pass out.


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(slow progress this week due to having to attend lectures, but I'm getting there)