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Only 13 of us remain standing now. Michael is gone. Today, during our dosage, he completely lost his sanity. I'll delve into the details shortly. I'm infuriated, to be honest. Michael was someone I genuinely cared about. I don't know what became of him, but he'll NEVER be the same again after what happened. If that doesn't sound like the prelude to a horror story, I don't know what does. So let me begin... We were strapped into our chairs in the white room, as usual, each of us drifting into a dreamlike haze, except for me, the lucky exception. While the others swam in the waters of slumber, I was left stranded on the dry shores of consciousness. I observed the reactions of my fellow test subjects – a wave of moans and whispered conversations, like I was the only conscious patient in a trauma tent during war. Enter Michael, or should I say, Michael on PCP. His voice began to rise, an escalating stream of Spanish words that seemed more like an exorcism. "DIABLO! DIABLO!" he shrieked, his words hanging in the air like a malevolent prayer. I will say this, it wasn't soothing to listen to. It was downright terrifying. Like, grandma-just-stabbed-grandpa terrifying. Of course, the others were none the wiser, all snugly wrapped in their drugged cocoon. But me? I was gripped by a growing unease, a nagging sense that something was about to go horribly wrong. Was I on some sort of placebo? Did they swap out my real pills for Tic-Tacs when I wasn't looking? Seriously, why the fuck wasn't I in dreamland? As Michael's screams reached a pitch that could shatter glass, the two resident "Dr. Evils," Dr. Waters and Dr. Roberts, sprang into panic mode. They practically lunged at Michael, desperately trying to free him from the clutches of whatever nightmare had ensnared him. It was like watching a twisted version of the exorcist only without the head spinning and puke. The horrifying part – the moment Michael's hands were unstrapped, he unleashed a freakshow spectacle. He didn't hold back; he went straight for his own eyes. His fingers dug and clawed, a sickening work of violence as he squished and pulled, as if his eyes were the last remnants of his sanity and he was hell-bent on annihilating them. The screams – dear God, the screams – they etched themselves into my brain, a haunting soundtrack to my nightmares. It was like watching a car wreck, except I was in the passenger seat, hurtling head on with a semi-truck and I couldn't escape. Michael's desperate cries echoed in my head, each one a jolt to my own sanity. And then, as if the world had been drained of color, I felt a profound emptiness. It was as though my own life force was ebbing away, like a silent bystander to my own demise. The world blurred, and a wave of shock swept over me, I was paralyzed, unable to draw breath or form words. I was trapped in a twilight zone of disbelief and terror. My eyes were fixed on the sickening horror unfolding before me – the Doctors frantically ushering Michael out, a grotesque puppet show of agony and chaos.Orderlys entered into the room with mops and buckets to clean up the mess. God help me, I wanted to scream. "Why the hell am I the only one who's awake for this madness?" I demanded of the universe, or perhaps the nearest wall. I mean, what cosmic twist of fate was this? Why was I privy to this nightmare while the others got to snooze away? After an agonizing eternity, the doctors returned, and my fellow prisoners of war slowly roused from their drugged slumber. I tried to voice the horrors I had witnessed, but my vocal cords were betraying me, refusing to form coherent words. It was Randy, of all people, who broke the silence. "Where's the hell's Michael?" he roared, his anger a thunderous clash against the eerie quiet. Dr. Waters' response was cold, chilling in its detachment. "He's no longer part of the experiment." That was it – a single sentence that sent tremors through our already fragile psyches. Confusion and concern rippled through the room like a contagious disease. And me? Well, I held my tongue. Call me a coward, but the truth was too grotesque, too unsettling to share. I didn't want to be the one to summon that storm of negativity into our midst. I could already hear the whispers – the same ones that would undoubtedly find their way into my own nightmares. Michael went nuts. Michael is going to the loony bin... We're next... We've spent the day in a state of numbness, holed up in the lounge. My mind is foggy, my thoughts a chaotic jumble of fear and confusion. To soothe our frayed nerves, we decided to play some poker. Because, you know, nothing calms the nerves like a good old game of cards. And guess the fuck what? This evil universe found its twisted sense of humor – I lost $1200 of my potential trial earnings to Chester, that smug son of bitch who pretended like he didn’t know how to play at first but took all our money. Talk about a kick in the existential gut. So, here I am, pondering the irony. I'm stuck in an experiment that is supposed to save my ass, and I've managed to earn exactly zilch. Zip. Nada. Will I be the next one to fall victim to this nightmarish spiral? Who knows, maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find myself desperately digging at my own eyes, courtesy of this twisted cocktail of chemicals they've been feeding us. For the first time since we've been trapped in this psycho experiment, true fear has wrapped its icy fingers around my heart. The game just got a whole lot darker, and the stakes, well, they're higher than ever. First it was Stephanie, whom none of us really knew, but Michael… this shit just got real serious, real fast. And then there's the question that won't let go – why the hell didn't I feel anything from today's dose? As if the universe decided that my nightmare quota wasn't quite full yet. Fuck it, man. I need to sleep this one off. -Jack NEXT CHAPTER
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