Three tall aliens stood over Doc as he lay on the sled, their impassive visages immune to the protests he made to his treatment. Whether they could not understand him or if they simply did not care that he arranged the abduction, the aliens continued stripping the clothes from his body.

When they pulled the tourniquet loose, Doc howled in pain. They did not care that he was bleeding to death.

A disbelieving calm claimed him while his body grew colder as each minute passed. The aliens were probably going to fix his leg and send him back to report on the success of the mission. The grunts of pain he could hear were coming from someone else.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Long-fingered hands picked Doc up and gently carried him from the cold metal he had lain on.

They would make him an ambassador to their planet, a man to rule over the earth after they had captured the planet in a bloodless battle. He would be King Doc.

He was chuckling when the aliens set him in a vat of liquid, the warm fluid raising until it stopped just short of his chin.

Doc’s skin tingled at the sensation of a million feathers brushing against him in a near erotic embrace. He enjoyed the touch until he felt the feathers turn to files and his wound blossomed into a pain he had not yet felt.

He opened his eyes. The green and silver slime that covered the surface of the fluid was turning red.

The files turned to knives, and his screams blotted out everything else.

An alien reached out and pushed Doc’s head below the surface of the liquid.