The sound of flies buzzing around my head is what ultimately causes me to awaken from the state of slumber and open my eyes, only to see my vision cut off by something covering the entirety of my face. In front of me, I can see two vague shadows facing each other, their whispers filling the room.

"I think, I think she's waking up," the first voice noted, tapping his colleague on the shoulder. Nervousness wafted off his voice, and he began to shake in anticipation, anxiousness at what the response would be.

"Shit! You think she's healed yet?" His colleague sounded just as unsure and anxious at he did. Reaching onto the table behind him, his fingers wrap around something that I can't quite make out before he turns to face me.

"No..." His voice trailed off, wavering with each step the other man took that brought him closer and closer to where I lay. The object poked out from between his fingers, and as he approached, I started to put two and two together. It was a syringe. His facial features began to slowly form before me, the pair of glasses hanging off his nose looking as though they're about to fall.

"Now Jessica, you might feel a slight pinch..." Standing over me, the syringe still in hand, he chuckles before leaning in closer. Fumbling with the needle, he awkwardly attempts to jam it into me, before I bring over my free arm and punch him right in the glasses, knocking them off and sending them flying to the floor and landing with a crack, followed by a crunch. Straining my neck to see the cause, the other man's demeanor tells it all.

He stepped on them.

"God fucking dammit!" Syringe not leaving his grasp, the doctor struggles to his feet and stumbles over to my bed. His assistant, the one who stepped on his glasses moments prior, comes over to the other side, grabbing my arm to ensure another attack won't be happening. The doctor's face, still shrouded by whatever's covering my own, twists itself into a rotten smile as his hand grips my elbow, slamming across the bar that kept me constrained. Moving it downward, his fingers grasp onto my wrist before he stabs my elbow with the syringe. Injecting the fluid into my veins, I lash out with one last ditch effort to free myself from this predicament.

Flailing around, my arm slips out of the assistant's grasp and I elbow him in the trachea. Clutching his throat and coughing, he drops to his knees and falls off to one side, leaving me free to deal with the other motherfucker. I throw a punch, which becomes weaker as my arm travels to him, before landing as little more than a tap against the man's cheek. Dropping upon contact, I feel myself fading back out of consciousness.

Laying my head back against the pillow, the room around me spins before darkening, leaving me finally alone in the blackness and it's cold embrace.

---

The door to my office swings open, and in stumbles Mikael Carron, my handpicked doctor for this delicate operation. His face bruised, glasses missing their lenses and hanging off his ear. Not even trying to hide my feelings, I begin to laugh at the sight, much to his annoyance.

"Ms. Tigris?" His voice is unsteady, forming an unsung vibrato as he holds out the last syllable of my name. "Diaz woke up."

"Then tell me; why isn't she in here, right now?" My voice comes across as cold and monotone, but right now I feel like taking his damn glasses and throwing them out the window for stalling. He looks around the room, eyes darting around the room and not daring come into contact with mine, and once again the nervous vibrato erupts from his mouth.

"Well, you see," he began, moving his hands in front of him to emphasize his train of thought. "She wasn't quite healed," his hand touched the bruise on his cheek, causing him to wince. "And, she was very hostile." Once more, he held out the last syllable.

"Let me get this straight. You wasted my fucking time, to tell me that absolutely nothing happened?" Oh, he was so fucked. Pushing my hands against the surface of the desk to help me stand up, my eyes lock onto his. Fright flooded his eyes, a sight that caused a smirk to form in the corners of my mouth. Flashing this grin at him, he recoils, crumbling within himself almost. Approaching him, the smirk becoming a frenzied, tight lipped grin, he begins to tense up.

"Go check on the patient," I advise, calming my voice down considerably. He gulps before nodding, and exiting the room. I make my way back to my desk, sitting down and placing my feet up on the surface.

I fucking love being the boss.

---

I fall back into the realm of the living about the time I feel the bandages (at least that's what I assume it to be) being removed from my head. The mousy, timid assistant's face comes into my line of sight first, and he doesn't hesitate before averting his eyes. My hands ball into fists, and I sit up, looking right at the doctor, his smug demeanor making me sick to my stomach.

I'm gonna fucking kill him.

Woah, calm down. I shake my head violently, trying to force the thought out physically. Coming a few steps closer, he kneels, getting down on eye level before directly addressing me.

"How're you feeling, Jessie?" His voice comes out cocky and condescending; not a good way to start this. Grabbing my hand, I feel his cold, sweaty palm press itself against mine. A chuckle escapes his mouth, and I dig my nails into his hand. He winces before letting his hand go limp. I release by grip and he pulls his hand off. Good.

"I've been better," I state, eyes unmoving from his now bleeding hand. He looks down, seeing the blood, causing the arrogant look on his face to wash away. Turning away, he walks over to the desk where he pulled the syringe from earlier. Picking up another thing from the hodgepodge of whatever he needs at the moment, he turns back. Coming back to me, I can see that it's a handheld mirror, pointed at himself.

"Well, I guess you could say we gave you a little makeover, Jess."

What?

He drops back down to one knee, and hands me the mirror. I take it, and look at my own reflection, only to see...



I wish I had orange juice.

---