Megohime sat huddled in the corner of a sterile room, wearing sterile white scrubs, shoeless, and a wristband with her information on it. Her body hurt so badly she didn’t want to move at all, even breathing hurt. She was terrified and confused, the last three days a living hell- from what she could remember at least. Every day she would be collected in the morning, strapped down to a table, hooked up to machines she didn’t recognize and injected with dozens of different things she didn’t know what they were. For hours they would pump her full of a thick liquid that burned terribly, made her have terrible aches, then they’d sedate her. When she woke, she was still on the same table, still receiving injections, only now she’d have been opened up. The only way she would be able to tell was the sutured wound on her midsection, always done neatly and precisely. She didn’t know what they were doing, they never really engaged with her, only sometimes when they fed her, if it could be called food. It was a grey cube of an unknown substance, completely tasteless with the consistency of brain.