The next time you wake up you hear the steady pulse of an EKG. The room was sterile. White. There is a dull ache in your ribs and you know the gash must be nasty. It’s not the first time you’ve been stabbed but it’s the first time you’ve gone to the hospital for it.

You try to think about what happened after John left. You wonder if a civilian found you. But what would they be doing there? No, this was something else. Someone was in the chair to your left. You could hear the flipping of pages.

You suddenly felt very, very vulnerable. It prickles in the back of your neck. John always said you had the killer instinct, most weren’t so fortunate to have intuition like you did. He said you took after him. You always wore that with pride.

You let consciousness come slowly, trying to move unnoticed.. You needed to find something–anything to use as a weapon. John’s voice rang through your head like a throbbing bruise. You had all these cables. That will do, now move.

You lunge up, disregarding the shooting pain in your torso as you get ready to strangle the person in the room. But those hands. They reach out and grip your wrists and you’re secretly thankful because you didn’t have the energy for a fight. They force you down onto the bed and the next thing you notice is his body. He’s considerably bigger than you.

“If I wanted you dead, little one, it would have been done already. You don’t have to fear me. I’m not your enemy. Now lay back down, you’ll rip your stitches open.”