His breath came out in ragged gasps. The room around him suddenly turned pitch black. There was a knock on the door. A loud, provocative knock. David was unable to move, let alone speak but still he breathed. Still he struggled. The door was creaking now as it was opened slowly from the outside. The room remained dark, playing cruel tricks on David’s fevered imagination. He was tied onto something as he sat in the blackness. There was a soft clinking sound of metal on metal and David struggled harder than ever, trying to tear away the unyielding ropes that held him. A voice whispered something from the darkness. He could not make out from where this voice was coming from. It hissed and spat and seemed to circle around him, waiting. Upon closer inspection, David noticed that he was sitting on what seemed to be a wheelchair. To his horror, he could feel the tip of a syringe brush the veins on his left hand and pausing. Further up, on his neck, he could feel a second syringe positioning itself on a pumping vein, not piercing his skin…yet. A third and fourth needle followed. He sat there for what seemed hours. Every minute a new needle was brought on a vein. David could feel his heart pounding in his sweaty ears and he sat absolutely still. Not a muscle in his body moved. The searing pain was unbearable but over in an instant. David opened his eyes and sat up. He looked at the door and stepped outside into a long, white tiled corridor which seemed to stretch out forever. David stumbled up to another identical door and knocked. A loud, provocative knock.