"W-where am I?" a man screamed, his body strapped to an operating table.

A bright light shining down onto this forced open eyes.

"I-Is anyone there!" the man shouted.

Just then, the doors to this grand and empty operating room flung open as the surgeons arrived. All in their different sizes and all mumbling different things.

"Oh thank God, please help me! I-I don't know how I got here." the man says, thinking he is saved.

But he is still their patient. He is still sick.

With these strange creatures stood a tall figure. Clad in a dark trench cot and a hat sitting just at the right angle to cover its face.

It stood out like a thumb in the crowd of surgeons. It started to whistle. A calming melody. One familiar to him.

The man started to feel anxious. Something about this didn't feel right. Something about these figures didn't feel right.

"L-Let me out of he-!" he was interrupted by a scalpel being stabbed into his abdomen.

The scalpel's sharp edge slowly cut its way through his skin, and eventually the surgeon started to drag it across his stomach. Going from side to side and up and down. Making a perfectly shaped rectangle. Another surgeon pushed his bony hand into his freshly cut stomach.

The man letting out a horrid screech as he felt the surgeon's ragged fingers claw onto his organs as it slowly pulled up the flab of skin and muscle.

It threw away the skin and a third surgeon started to put its hand in and shove the mans guts to the side preparing for the fourth surgeon to begin pouring in something.

It grabbed something from a bucket beside them and shoved it into the screaming and pleading man.

"PLEASE! PLEASE JUST LET ME LEAVE!" he screamed.

But he is still sick.

Still broken.

The object cut and moved around inside the man. He felt it burn like someone constantly pouring salt into an open wound.

The first surgeon then moved up closer to the man's chest and started to speak.

"Please. Calm. MR. John. DOE." Its voice is raspy and almost robotic.

"Th-That's not my name..." the man heaved.

"My name is Harper Gre-" the man was immediately shut up by the surgeon who seemed to staple something into his wrist.

A paper name plate displaying "John Doe. patient at the Hospital."

"What the fuck is your problem!" the man screamed as the second surgeon now moved up as well preparing for something. The other two simply watched whatever was placed into the man with curious eyes.

The second surgeon simply pushed his hands into his chest and grabbed his heart. The surgeon's hands pulled it up and faded through his skin once more, now holding his beating heart.

The other two surgeons now moved up, one holding a needle and thread. The other metal square that seemed to move and twist like a lung grasping for air.

The man felt how the needle went in and out as the object was attached to his heart. Each pierce caused a bellowing scream. Yet all the surgeons did was put their cold old hands on his mouth to muffle him.

The object was heavy. He felt it squeeze his heart, almost bursting it with its weight. Eventually, his newly operated heart was put back in, as the surgeon faded through his chest and simply placed it back.

The thing in his abdomen is still moving around.

They closed him up, using some thorny material as substitute skin. The man watched and thought it similar to the skin on a pineapple.

Eventually, the surgeon moved up to his head. Two held it still one placed a mirror above it, making him see his tiered face, his shaven beard and dark hair peppered with gray hairs.

The second surgeon leaned over the man and spoke.

"You. Sick. need fix. We. have. Solution. Just. Calm." Its voice is more hushed than the other.

It eventually assisted the other by holding the man's head and placing a single dot onto his forehead. Lastly, the first man took out an old hand crank drill. It's metal almost completely covered in rust and traces of its other patients.

The man, now tears in his eyes, screamed.

"I'm not sick! I'm not sick! I'M NOT SICK!" over and over.

Yet the surgeon kept his head still as the last one started the drill and aimed it right at his temple.

The other figure kept on whistling and watched from the corner of his eye.

The man begged and begged, but no matter how many times he screamed, the drill just got closer. Now spinning and spinning, his eyes following it's rotation

"I'm not fuckin sick please just let me go!" he screamed.

However, it didn't matter.

The drill broke through bone and gray mater. Coloring his brain with rust as it broke through his frontal lobe and just breaking into his partial lobe.

He didn't scream anymore.

He couldn't think.

His eyes blinked, but his vision didn't fade.

The mirror in front of him showed the fresh hole in his head.The first surgeon was leaned over and spoke.