Human flesh is easier to cut than a piece of meat. 


While under the knife the two victims came in and out of consciousness. Their insides were being played with as they felt every tug and pull of their organs. Grimy hands slithered deeper inside them. 


And when that was over the first thing Hannah felt was a cold touch of metal against her bare thigh that settled deep in her bones. 


Her eyes fluttered open as the realization that she was lying on a metal table hit her harder than the harsh cold touch she felt earlier. It wasn't just the metal table that was cold, the cold scraped against every visible surface like the cracked white walls, the gray ceiling with mold bleeding from its edges and the bodies surrounding her. Corpses actually, all placed in black body bags. 


The air reeked of antiseptic and rot from the carcasses. A single, flickering bulb swung overhead, casting a nauseating strobe over the room. Fear consumed her. The type of fear that ate your insides out like flesh-eating bacteria. 


Hannah attempted to move and felt a sharp slicing pain across her abdomen. Her breath caught in her throat as her fingers trembled toward her stomach. Bandages. Bloody bandages in fact. Panic surged through her in waves—hot, cold, hot again but mostly cold. 


A low groan drifted from the other side of the room. She wasn't alone, apart from the dead corpses. There was another living boy in the cold room. 


"Hello?" Hannah rasped, her voice was hoarse from screaming followed by another groan. The boy was trying to communicate but couldn't fathom what was happening to him. 


She twisted toward the sound, vision swimming in and out of focus. There was a boy—no, a young man—lying on a rusted metal gurney not ten feet from her. Pale, full of blood and earthy, brown eyes that started to open. He had a thick, wool blanket on top of his body and removed it immediately having been sweating profusely. 


His voice was as hoarse as hers, dry and void of words. What did spew out of his mouth though was incoherent but enough for Hannah to understand they were both in deep shit. 


He blinked slowly, as if trying to locate his body. His hand lifted shakily and pressed against his side and his face contorted.


He whispered to himself as he gazed at the scar running across his lower abdomen that matched Hannah's. 


"I think they took something," she said, the words foreign in her mouth. She didn't want them to be true. "From both of us." Their eyes met from across the room. 


The silence that followed was oppressively thick but apart from that they heard screaming coming from the other room. It hadn't been apparent to them, that they weren't alone. And somewhere in the distance, a machine beeped steadily, like a heartbeat allowing them to know they were still alive. 


The young man turned his head toward her. "I'm Timothèe." A pause. "Hannah. 


Hannah's eyes swept the room. It was windowless, the walls streaked with something dark. Two metal doors, both locked tight. One had a keypad, smeared with dried blood. No sign of who had brought them here—or how.


Hannah shifted again, wincing in agony. The pain in her stomach pulsed like her belly had its own heartbeat. Someone had opened her up. Taken something vital and sewn her shut like she was a piece of meat. Human skin was so easily sliced and diced. 


Finally Hannah sat up, every nerve screaming in protest. She swung her legs over the side of the table and nearly collapsed. Timothèe was watching her, face pale, but he followed, forcing himself upright with a grunt of pain.


"How long do you think we've been here?" he asked.


"Long enough." Hannah gritted, coated in blood. A stitch had ripped in her abdomen as she held her stomach in place to prevent her guts from spilling any further. Then their eyes travelled to the same place: a metal tray between them that held a scalpel and forceps and bloodied gauze, confirming their suspicions. Hannah turned away before she vomited, all her lunch contents spilling from her no longer dry mouth. 


"They didn't expect us to wake up," Timothèe said. It wasn't a question. "No," Hannah agreed.


Timothée moved an inch and gasped. Somehow Hannah managed to get to him. "Don't move, you'll burst a stitch." Hannah took the wool blanket in order to apply pressure to her bleeding wound. She took a rest that might of been a few minutes or hours. She didn't know. 


Finally when Timothée was comfortable enough to move, he dragged his feet towards the metal doors leaving Hannah gaping at his determination. He tapped at the security keypad leaving a trail of blood. No response. The lights stayed red. "It's locked." He stated the obvious. However from somewhere behind the door came a sound—footsteps. Not rushed. Not panicked. Deliberate. Like someone on rounds. Hannah froze. So did Timothèe.


The footsteps stopped right outside. The two of them stared at the door holding their breaths as the footsteps eventually passed. A flickering light above the keypad alerted them that they were being watched. Hannah backed away from the camera, her heart pounding in her throat. "What the hell is this place?" she asked.


Timothèe didn't answer. He walked to the corner of the room, where the small camera blinked red in the shadows. He raised his middle finger to it. "Let them watch." Timothée said, stunning Hannah. 


They searched the room—or tried to with their condition. There were just surgical tools, gurneys, and a sink that spat out brown water. And of course, the corpses. Hannah bitterly checked the other bodies just to ensure they were dead and that herself and Timothée weren't the only ones. 


Some bodies were missing limbs like a leg or a parts of a torso. Their chests were cut wide open and sloppily stitched back together. "It's like we're livestock to them." Hannah gagged. 


"What?" He asked, lost in thought as Hannah motioned to the other bodies. Each had the same incisions as Hannah and Timothée. 


His eyes met hers. "You think this is... what? Organ trafficking?"


Suddenly, the light above the door turned green and the lock clicked open allowing them both to step out of the operating room. Silence weighed heavily on them as they saw darkness reach past the corridor, only lit by LED lights on the floor illuminating some light. Hannah met Timothèe's eyes. "Trap?" To which he agreed. They could have stayed. They could have waited until someone came to dispose the bodies properly. Instead they moved. 


They stepped into the hallway together, moving slowly and clutching at each other but careful to avoid their injuries. The hallway stretched out in both directions as their bare feet slapped quietly against the cold tile. To the left, a sign read: WARD D. To the right: EXTRACTION BAY. Neither option sounded safe or ideal. Though one word did make Hannah's blood run cold: extraction. A chill swept across her, sending sweat down her spine. 


"We go left." Hannah suggested. 


Suddenly a heart shattering scream echoed from the room just ahead of them like some was drowning in pain as if they were being eaten alive. They froze while listening to more screaming, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal scraping on tile.


Something was in there. Alive and they were now... listening too. Timothèe grabbed her arm, pulling her back. They ducked into a nearby room and eased the door shut behind them. The screaming subsided as they unnervingly waited as something heavy shuffled past the door. Timothèe exhaled. "We need to get out of here." Hannah agreed. 


But both of them knew—they weren't just victims. They were leftovers.


And someone... or something... wasn't done with them yet.