Between Two Worlds
Dead

Janice? What has happened to you?" I inquire, my pulse racing in terror.

"Is she... Is she crying... blood?" Carina murmurs, her complexion turning pale as she gazes upon Janice.

"Rayanna. Please. Help me," pleads Janice.

"I... I simply cannot. Forgive me," I utter, my head shaking in denial, fully aware she's blind to my gesture. I retreat to the furthest corner of my bed, with Carina shadowing me closely.

"What atrocities have they inflicted upon her?" she breathes into my ear.

"I don't know," I respond in hushed tones. There's no logical reason for our whispers; we talked normally just moments ago. But the sheer dread of Janice, of the possibility of her approaching us, of her unsettling gaze – it's overwhelming. Despite knowing it's not her doing, her appearance serves as a grim reminder: the Ghemin aren't hosting us for our amusement; they're subjecting us to their trials. "Should we check on the others? See how they are doing?"

"Are you prepared to face that horror once more?" Carina questions. "I'm uncertain if I possess the strength."

"What if we just let them sleep? We could simply verify their breathing, tally the number of individuals present, and check for any acquaintances among them. I must admit, when we were herded into the Lab, my own woes clouded my observation of others. It might be somewhat comforting to have companions in this confinement."

"Agreed, self-pity had been my companion as well. Alright, let's proceed with your plan, but you're leading the way."

"Why must I go first?" I protest, dismayed by the notion.

"It was your brainchild," she retorts.

"Very well. But let it be known, when the next terrible idea arises—perhaps an escape—you will lead."

"It's a deal."

With a deep inhalation, a gulp to steel myself, and a slow exhalation, I advance towards the furthest bed from Janice, where someone lies dormant. We navigate through the aisles of beds, pausing to count each person, ensuring they're alive and unharmed, and seeking familiar faces. Among them are women who appear unscathed and others bearing seeping injuries. The girl with unkempt hair from before is there; I observe her chest rise and fall—she's alright. Reaching the last bed by Janice, we conduct a swift assessment and hasten back to our starting point.

As far as our observations went, the room seems to be holding eight souls, all seemingly in the realm of the living. Recognition was scarce; only Janice bore a name to a face. The girl with tendrils of unkempt hair, was also spotted, a mere shadow from my confinement, but unknown on a personal level. As I think on the other women, a peculiar observation strikes me - the others' years seemed to surpass my own. The whims of fate's draw are curious indeed, at times favoring youth, at others wisdom, or occasionally, a balance of both.

"Your thoughts on our predicament?" Carina's inquiry pulls me back into reality, as we settled onto my cot, side by side, eyes cast towards the door.

"I'm thinking that..." But before i could utter a single word, our space is invaded by three Ghemin.

Clad in white metallic armor save for one, who donned the standard grey, they enter. The grey one stands guard at the threshold, weapon cradled against his chest. His companions commence their rounds - a silent dance of inspection over each occupant, pausing for pulses and scrutinizing stitches. Our gaze follows their path to Janice. I find myself holding my breath, anticipation heightening as they loomed over her. They exchange glances, their alien tongues weaving incomprehensible discourse - likely about the crimson stain marring her visage. As they reached to unveil her wounds, her moans pierced the silence once more.

Rayanna, is that you, again? Please help me! I can’t see!” Janice’s voice is filled with panic.

The Ghemin converse in their cryptic tongue, and one approaches Janice, placing a hand upon her brow. She bolts upright, a scream piercing the air, followed by a violent cough that spatters blood across the pristine Ghemin attire. Collapsing back onto her cot, she lies motionless.

“Has she...?” Carina’s whisper barely reaches my ears. Her eyes are wide with shock; her hands clasped over her mouth.

“Passed on? Yes, it seems so,” I murmur back, my voice a hushed echo of Carina’s dread.

As the Ghemin lift Janice’s cot and proceed towards the exit, her arm dangles lifelessly over the edge. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing away the image that threatens to invade my dreams.

“Lay down and be still,” a voice commands.

Startled, I flinch and my eyes snap open. A Ghemin stands before me, garbed in an unblemished metallic ensemble. How long have I been lost in thought?

“Lay down and remain still. Immediately,” the Ghemin insists.

I resign myself to the situation, reclining passively as the Ghemin approaches. With delicate care, he lifts my gown, inspecting the surgical mark on my abdomen. A sharp pang shoots through me as he probes the area, yet I remain silent, stifling any cry of discomfort. Fear grips me tightly—the fate of Janice haunts my thoughts, her demise a chilling mystery. Was it an electric shock that claimed her life? His silence is unnerving as he replaces my gown and shifts his attention to Carina.

Time trickles by until a Ghemin soldier clad in grey delivers our meals. The dish before me—a peculiar avian species accompanied by starch and greens, and a water bottle—ignites hunger I hadn't noticed. When was my last meal? Hours seem like days here. Perhaps this meal is a positive omen; they wouldn't nourish someone marked for death. Or perhaps it's a ploy to sustain us for further experimentation. Despite the uncertainty, I consume the meal, and soon after, a soldier retrieves the tray.

"Bed," he commands tersely before departing. Then comes an action that sends shivers down my spine—he extinguishes all light, plunging us into an abyss.

In my bed, I'm engulfed by the void, so absolute that even my own hand is lost to my eyes. Sleep eludes me as visions of Janice's bloody demise invade my mind. Sleep, it seems, may forever be a stranger to me.

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