A gender ambiguous Medic/You ~ Muscles contract, needles pierce, blood seeps and scalpels shimmer. The Medic is bending over your limp body, spats of blood staining his once clean lab coat. A needle glimmers momentarily in the bright light, until he plunges it into your skin. You shudder, feeling every tiny drop of liquid invading your blood stream. You think that by now, you would have fallen unconscious – that one of the many chemicals injected forcefully into you, coursing through your veins, would at least numb the pain. But it does no such thing, it only emphasises the pain, makes it the only thing you can think about. He stands over you menacingly, the light of the room focusing purely on him and you. You lay sprawled out on a metal operating table, face up. Another needle enters your arm; you let out a small moan and clutch your hair. “There there, meine kleine, do not move...“ A string of pain shoots up through your arm and you convulse violently on the table. You can feel him smiling. “Interesting results.“ He states. The next needle was more of a violent jab than a prick. The pain is everywhere now, not just from where he just injected you, but it seems to radiate from all over your body. You wrap both arms around your head, tearing at your hair. You open your mouth wide to scream – but no sound escapes. One hand leaves your head to clutch the table for support. The Medic wants more. Theres a brief pause in movement. Suddenly, he takes both your hands in an almost proffessional manner and stretches them, so you feel the muscles in your arms tighten. He looks down at you for a glance, you can feel hints of dry blood on your face. He smiles – almost sweetly. It’s not your pain that he adores, nor your silent screams, it is purely the knowledge that pleases him, the knowledge that your flesh belongs to him – that it is his flesh to twist and distort. With his gloved hand, he places his hand on your stomach, and savours your slow, laboured breathing. He chooses to remove his gloves – he wants to feel your skin, your blood, your flesh. The remnants of your tattered clothes are pulled up, exposing more skin. This is what exictes the Medic, not guns, not kills, but this. He brings the knife to your bare stomach, you let out a weak moan at its coldness. This isn‘t enough to douse the Medics twisted desires ,he needs more, so much more. The taller man brings his face right down to yours –his arms pressing you harder against the table. You can feel the warmth of his breath as he works his way up and down your neck, the feeling of the scalpel also against your skin an ever present threat. Too weak to move, you can only feel him nipping and biting lustfully at your flesh, while whispiring German vulgarities into your ear. Your eyes shoot open when he does the unthinkable – and you find yourself staring back a face with two rows of white teeth grinning at you, a wolf baring its fangs at its prey, its eyes full of bloodlust. The scalpel is then pressed to your neck. “You’re disgusting.“ You hiss. “That’s why you love me.“