Neato awoke with a start, his heart racing. The room was small, claustrophobic even, and had no windows. The only light came from a dim, flickering bulb overhead. He quickly realized that he was tied to a chair, his wrists and ankles bound tightly with thick ropes. Panic surged through him as he struggled against his restraints, but they held firm.
"Hey! Is anyone there?" Neato shouted, his voice echoing off the bare walls.
A door creaked open at the far end of the room, and the old man who had carried him appeared in the doorway. The sight that followed sent a jolt of terror through Neato—the old man was holding a severed leg, the flesh pale and lifeless, with blood dripping onto the floor.
"Oh, you're awake," the old man said, his tone unsettlingly casual. "Did you have nice dreams?"
Neato's mind raced, his stomach turning. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice trembling.
The old man chuckled, a hollow sound that sent chills down Neato's spine. "I think it's better to show you."
Without another word, the old man moved behind Neato and began pushing the chair, which was fitted with wheels, out of the small room. The severed leg hung loosely in the old man's grip, leaving a trail of blood on the floor as they moved down the corridor.
The corridor was long, lined with multiple doors on either side. As they passed by, Neato could hear the unmistakable sounds of people screaming—desperate, agonized cries for help. Some voices begged for mercy, others for death. Each sound seemed to pierce Neato's soul, intensifying his growing dread.
Neato tried to twist in the chair to catch a glimpse of what lay behind the doors, but the old man pushed him forward relentlessly. Finally, they reached the end of the corridor, where a heavy door loomed ahead. The old man paused for a moment before pushing it open.
Inside was a scene straight out of a nightmare.
The old woman was standing in the middle of the room, her hands covered in blood as she wielded a chainsaw. The body of a woman lay on a metal table in front of her, already half-disassembled. Around the room, several bodies were hanging from hooks, lifeless and grotesquely contorted.
Neato felt bile rise in his throat as the horrifying reality sank in. He couldn't hold it back; he vomited violently, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the floor.
"What is this?" Neato gasped, his voice weak and filled with horror.
The old man, still holding the severed leg, stepped beside him and looked around the room with a strange sense of pride. "This," he said softly, "is life"
END OF CHAPTER 34