After I Died, My Fiancée Finally Learned the Truth

After my fiancée lured me to a remote village called Blackhollow, deep in the Greystone Mountains, I became nothing more than a human test subject—a disposable body for the village to cut open at will.

The village doctor had sliced my abdomen open with crude, brutal strokes to draw blood for drug trials. Massive hemorrhaging followed. I lay in a pool of my own blood.

Through the door, I could hear the two village men on guard duty, puffing on hand-rolled cigarettes and chatting:

"This college kid from the city is so gullible. Still thinks he actually got kidnapped."