In the catacombs
When Isabel regained consciousness she was back in the White Room. But this time the lights were painfully bright and there were restraining straps that secured her to the operating table. She could see there were others in the room as well, and still more people watching from galleries elevated above the room. Men in dark suits mostly, with the occasional military officer thrown in for variety.
She felt excruciating pain from somewhere in her chest but she couldn't lift her head to find its cause.
Instead she looked past the red haze in her eyes, past the pain lancing through her mind, and into the mirrored hoods on the overhead lights. It took her a moment to recognize herself in the reflection. Most of her hair had been shorn away, replaced by a chaotic tangle of electrodes and wires. But that wasn't the worst of it.
She couldn't see everything because of the medical workers who bustled around her lower half, but she could see that her stomach and chest were draped with protective medical material.
The fabric's light blue surface was stained crimson with blood.
And then one of the worker's moved aside and she saw that her chest was open, spread wet and wide, her heart beating rapidly as they continued to disassemble her, organ by organ.
Isabel screamed and the sound reverberated off the white walls. But there was no one there to care.
[Adapted from the Roswell novel Pursuit by Andy Mangels and Michael A. Martin]