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I catch sight of myself in a tinted window. A sopping wet cindered mess. Beaten up and worn out with nerve endings still screaming from the interrogation.
It's a weird feeling. Like I'm burning and freezing at the same time. I've managed to move through the fourth floor of the clinic unseen. The corridor leads to a dead end ahead, but there's a left turn. I stay tight to the wall. Peer around it. See the same big fella I saw getting into the Mercedes. The one in the bulky black suit with the jet-black hair in a ponytail. He stands in front of a pair of blue doors with porthole windows. It says Theatre 3 above the doors. A pair of surgeons in full scrubs and masks hurry towards the room. He waves them away. Tells them to give it five minutes.
They shake their heads. Throw out their ar
