***
When he came round, he found himself partly naked and stretched, almost crucified on a hard table surface, his arms and legs secured by nylon straps and the mouth wrapped by duct tape. There seemed also a piece of plastic attached to his nose to facilitate nose-only breathing. An improvised surgical light was hanging low from the ceiling. The tall lean man was seated on a chair next to him filling out a form, like in a hospital. He was no longer wearing the fur hat and Vasya could see the man was perfectly hairless. He was obviously old, but it was difficult to tell the age. The short woman was also hanging around by the bald man’s side, having changed from the blue technician’s jacket into a green surgical gown. The Director was not present. The old man noticed that Vasya had woken up and moved closer, handing the notepad to the woman in an absent-minded gesture. “Ketamine, intramuscular. General narcosis”, he said. She unceremoniously pulled Vasya’s pants down and gave him a shot in the hip and then got busy setting up a couple of small rolling racks with shining surgical instruments. Vasya wrestled helplessly on the table, the nylon webbing was strong enough to hold a bull.
The man moved still closer and bent over Vasya’s face. He reached for his pocket and produced a small device that looked like a white plastic pen or a small torch. He turned it on, a small yellow light was lit, and he directed it in Vasya’s right eye, placing the device very close to it, actually touching the surface of the eyeball. “Be still”, he murmured, “see, it doesn’t hurt at all”. He repeated the procedure on the left eye and seemed very content with the results. “Splendid, very healthy and well above five hundred micron”, he said. Vasya was feeling numbness slowly, gradually spreading all over his body.
“Let me tell you what’s going to happen. The anaesthesia will start in five, six minutes”, said the doctor, “first we will remove one of your kidneys, you better be alive then, we’ll get a better price for it... Your corneas seem to be excellent, so we will use them as well. Naturally, that requires removing your eyes, but don’t worry, you won’t feel anything. At that moment, we’ll probably stop your heart and will surely preserve it and your other kidney, and I am pleasantly surprised that you seem to have a remarkably healthy liver. Most Russian men, you know… Some other little tissues can also be salvaged and will continue to serve the humanity. In other words you can be proud of yourself.”
“It is funny, in a way”, continued the doctor, “that most of you guys are worth more in parts, than in a whole. Contrary to the logic of complex systems”. He gave a little discreet giggle. “You’re probably earning like six, eight hundred bucks a month? OK, a thousand, tops?” Actually that was even generous, Vasily thought. “In a year, you will likely earn just one of your kidneys, if you’re lucky”, continued the man. “Given the short lifespan and an even shorter productive lifespan, many of you won’t even earn enough or contribute enough to the society to earn the ownership of your own poor bodies”. “So”, continued the doctor, “in a way we are all serving the society here”. Vasya didn’t quite get the logic, besides he thought he could now break the shaky table if he really tried, his muscles somehow still worked. Although the straps seemed indestructible, one of the table legs they were attached to, felt weaker than the other. He didn’t know if he would achieve anything by that, but any disruption would be welcome now.
“Ready”, said the nurse. “Excellent”, said the doctor, “cut the remaining clothes off, sterilize the area while I get ready”. Vasily felt the bad smell from the nurse’s mouth as she went around with large tailor’s scissors cutting through his shirt, he could feel their cold steel sliding by his skin.
“Nurse, did you administer narcosis?” the doctor asked leaning over Vasya face. “Sure I did, almost six hundred”, replied the nurse. “Hmm, that’s not enough for this hulk, I don’t see it working”, said the doctor. “Like hell it’s working”, groaned Vasya through his duct tape gag and pulled the left hand with all his might. The screws shoot off like bullets and the table leg came off the joint hitting Vasya in the face but he was only too glad. He grabbed that chrome-plated pipe and struck the doctor in his bald head before he could duck; there was no blood but a comical wonking sound and the doctor collapsed on the table bringing it down with Vasya still strapped to it and both of the surgical trays that the nurse had so neatly arranged. The nurse herself was frantically looking for something at another desk by the wall, repeating nervously, “One sec, one sec, I got it, I got it”. Vasya released the pipe for now and searched desperately with his only hand for anything nearby to cut the straps. Ridiculously, none of the dozens of scalpels and lancets had landed nearby.
She was already running back to him with a tiny white syringe she was holding like a knife. Vasya convulsed with his whole body hitting her with the half-broken table, that delayed her a bit but she wasn’t hurt. He kept searching blindly with his only free hand for a scalpel and finally found the large scissors; he cut his wrist badly trying to free himself but managed just in time as she bent over the table’s edge aiming the syringe at his chest, but he grabbed that fat sweaty hand and pulled her over the edge as if they were pro wrestlers from the World Wrestling Federation on the TV, and she came down with a piercing squeal landing right down on her own needle. She plunged her teeth into Vasya’s arm holding her and almost chewed on it, so he had to let her go, thinking he’d need to get a rabies shot afterwards. She crawled slowly back to the same desk she came from and curled up under the desk.
Somebody knocked on the door. “Boss, are you OK?” the Director’s voice was heard. Vasily got the scissors again and freed his feet, he could barely feel them but managed to get up, a little bloodied, a little shaken, his clothes hanging down in ridiculous strips. He peeled away the duct tape from his mouth and said, “Yeah, I think he’s OK. You too will be OK”. The Director struggled for a moment with the keys and appeared in the doorway holding a small Makarov pistol in his right hand, but Vasya was too angry to care. He picked the same table leg again and moved towards the Director. The Director fired once and Vasya felt a punch in his chest and then another as the Director fired again, but he kept moving. One more punch in the chest and the bullet literally got stuck there, but he didn’t feel anything. The fourth and the last round was a miss, it flew a few centimeters past Vasya’s face, and he was within the hitting distance with his chrome-plated weapon of vengeance. There was no wonking sound this time. He searched the Director’s pockets, found his own cell phone and called the cops.