The following testimony was released along with a number of leaked documents from a government server. It was found without context, names and places redacted. It appears to be the statement of a man or woman at some sort of medical facility. The documents leaked alongside it appear to be unrelated and offer no further clues to its authenticity.
My name is [Redacted]I have been here for I don’t know how many days. You tell me am supposed to tell my story. Am too tired to fight you, the drugs you give me mess with my head.. Frankly i’m scared and I don’t know what will become of me.
It already feels like ages ago. I lived in [Redacted]a rural area with cool quiet nights. I miss being able to see the stars at night. They always filled the sky, and in that time of year fireflies blinked along with them. I was what would be considered a night owl and often walked along the train tracks on such nights to clear my head. The cool air and quiet darkness helped to relax me. It was dark, trees lined the sides of the tracks before buffering between the road proper. I tripped, on what I don’t know, but I fell and landed on my palms. They stung with pain and blood started to drip down my right palm. The pain was small and sharp, but I cut myself deep enough that blood oozed down my arm as I raised my hand for closer inspection. It felt warm and sticky. I rushed home leaving a trail of blood droplets along the way.
I washed the blood away in my bathroom sink, bearing the sting of rubbing alcohol on the cut. It was deeper than I thought. If I could not stop the bleeding I would have to go to the emergency room for stitches. The thought of going to the hospital was something I dreaded greatly. Not just for the fees, but the thought of the crowded, sickly place. The sanitized surfaces and needles entering and exiting flesh all played on my fears. I wrapped my hand tightly in towels and waited till finally the bleeding stopped. I bandaged the cut with some wraps out of my own small first aid kit and called it a night.
In the morning the wound throbbed and swelled. Ignoring the pain I cleaned and rewrapped it before going to work. I worked the day ignoring the pain, after all I still needed the money. The day was tough, but uneventful. I cleaned the wound again when I got home and rewrapped it once more. It was not till that night the situation changed. About four hours into a deep sleep I awoke with a sharp pain in my hand. The pain was excruciating. I rushed to my bathroom to see my hand was bleeding once again. I unwrapped it and held it under the running faucet. I could see something red and stringy sticking out of the cut. I pulled on it, sending a shockwave of pain up my arm. It was vine like object with fishhook like thrones.
The more I tried to pull the red vine out of my wound the more the thrones dug itself into my flesh. I never saw such a thing in my life. Blood gushed out in greater quantities. I felt myself getting woozy. I managed to call 911 before I passed out. My irrational fear of hospitals no longer seemed to matter when I felt like I was going to die. I only came in and out a couple times after that. I remember bright lights, and lots of people in white looking over me. Needles taking blood samples, and someone pulling at and clipping away samples of the vine in my hand.
When I awoke again I was here. In this white room. At first I thought it was just a private room in the hospital but that’s not true is it? After all, what kind of hospital room has no windows and feels the need to keep their patient strapped down. You have me on an IV but I have no idea what’s inside it, if I make too much noise you inject something else into it that puts me asleep. You won’t tell me anything. You sit there and copy down everything i’m saying on your little laptop, and I imagine that the only reason you have not put me back to sleep is because you wanted to hear my story. Am afraid if I stop talking you will be done with needing me conscious.
You have been poking and prodding at it. This thing in my hand. It’s growing, I can feel it moving down into my arm. I don’t know how far it will go and am scared. I know what you are doing. Am just a host to you. You don’t know what this thing is either and you want to study it for some reason. You are harvesting it for study, and am just the soil it happens to grow in.