Garbage

The man runs, fleeing through the hall from his assailants. Trying his hardest to make a mad sprint for the exit doors. He had to get there, he just had to. He refused to spend another day in this hell, this twisted nightmare he'd been trapped in for years. He turned the corner, to see the doors just at the end of the hall. But before he could take another step, a hail of bullets ripped his legs apart and he fell. The pain overwhelmed him, and his vision went black.

His eyes slowly open. No idea how long he'd been out, but the first thing he noticed were his legs. They were riddled with bullet holes and fragments of bone, the pain just barely there at the back of his mind. As though his brain had had enough and was ignoring those sensations for now. He then became aware of the sensation of being dragged. Someone had a hold of his collar, but before he could try and wiggle free a needle sunk into his neck and he fell into unconsciousness once more.

When he finally awoke once more, he found he was no longer being dragged. He also found that he couldn't see. Wherever he was it was completely dark, as well as silent. The only noise was his own increasingly panicked breathing. His room was also incredibly small, much too crampt for comfort at the best of times. Let alone when severely wounded. He pounded his fists on the walls but to no avail.

Moments dragged on like hours, he sat alone in silence and stillness. Truly this was a nightmare worse than the one he'd attempted to flee. He was almost wishing he was back there when his prison shook. He had the sudden sensation of falling, before his prison suddenly halted and he felt himself slam against the floor. Before he had time to contemplate this, he then felt himself being lifted up. Lightly bouncing back and forth as though being carried.

At last, he thought. At last help has arrived! He pounded on the walls of his prison and tried to shout, but found his arms had grown weak and his voice hoarse. All he could do was struggle and whimper in a vain attempt for a response which never came. He broke down and even wept at his own fate, cursing thouse he believed the cause of it.

For what seemed hours he was tossed and turned in his prison. Occasionally he fell again, and heard the sound of something pounding on his prison's walls. The first few times the latter gave him hope, that someone was trying to rescue him. When the poundings persisted without any change, they dashed his hopes and began to drive him mad. A new torture to increase his agony.

It was another few hours before he felt himself be lowered softly. By now he was a barely whimpering, barely breathing shell of his former self. He lightly stroked the walls of his prison, pleading with whatever being controlled his fate. Begging for release. At last, his prison was hoisted up once more, before falling.

It fell further than he remembered being lifted, much further. As he fell, a new torture was implemented in the form of a rapidly growing heat. His prison's walls and floor reached searingly high temperatures within moments. His cracked and broken vocal chords screamed out their last, as he burned up within his prison. Little more than ash now, his agony at an end.

Above him, another person strode slowly away. Wearing an orange jumpsuit, the test subject wiped a tear from his eye at having to euthenize his only companion in this entire labyrinth of test chambers.