The light peeked through the gaps in its shroud as it came to consciousness once more. The shroud was tight, and its tongue was thick with an unseen bile as it lay there on the metal sheet. No pillows, no blankets: just sterile, cold metal against its back as it stayed there, splayed and immobile and paralyzed. It was nude, it realized - somewhere back in its mind, it knew what it was, or what it once was. It was nude, fastened down as unseen hands with unfamiliar voices drew their latex fingers around its form.
One set of hands fiddled with the dark shroud, pulling the fabric up and over one side, exposing it to the light. Despite the stinging pain rushing through its body and its rattled nerves, it could not react; perhaps its exposed eye constricted its pupil in retaliation, or perhaps its vision flickered for a moment. Other than those options, however, it was completely dead to the world.


I know this is lore and all, but I randomly started feeling like shit just before drawing this. Still on break, and I don't know how long I'll be posting infrequently.
God damn it