The giant butcher leaned over me.
His red eye stared directly into mine.
His breath reeked of rotting entrails, making me vomit bile into my mouth—but I couldn't spit it out due to the paralysis.
He raised his massive hand, grabbed my cotton shirt, and tore it in a single motion as if it were tissue paper, exposing my chest marked with Vargas's claw scar.
"Let's begin… with the opening," the butcher growled.
One of the mechanical arms descended from the ceiling, holding a laser scalpel that emitted a terrifying buzz.
There was no anesthesia.
There was no mercy.
The burning laser scalpel touched my skin at the center of my sternum.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"
I screamed silently inside my mind, my body convulsing violently, but the metal restraints didn't allow me to move even a fraction.
Flesh was being burned and cut at the same time.
I felt layers of skin separating—then fat—then muscle.
The smell of my own roasted flesh filled my nose.
