Poisoned Blood 2: Return Of The Surgeons

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I wake in what looks like an isolation room. I try to shift position but am stuck in a dirty straitjacket that is wrapped in chains connected to the wall behind me. I look around in the darkness surrounding me. I can barely make out drawings and words written in crayons and god knows what else all over the walls. Things like "help me" and "end this hell" written in desperate letters. I blink back tears brimming in my eyes. I was terrified, not knowing what was going to happen to me. Who knew how many people fell victim to Doctor Johnson's experiments?
        The door suddenly slams open, blinding me with a bright white light. Squinting, I see dark silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway. My eyes finally get used to the light so I can see who it is. It's a young, but sinister looking nurse. Blood is swept all over her white scrubs. Her hair is pitch black, falling in wild locks down her back. Her face looks somewhat like that of...
        "Dr. Johnson," she says in a voice soft and dangerous as a panther. My brows knit in fear and confusion, but she grins continuing, "Dr. Lana Johnson, daughter of the man who poisoned you." I screamed like hell as she laughed, countless surgeons spilling into the room, unwrapping me from the chains and dragging me down the halls. I start to scream and kick. The walls were covered in bloody hand prints, the bodies of the previous hospital staff scattered around like dead flies.
        "Let me go, you bastards!" I shouted, thrashing around desperately. Dr. Lana just walked in front of the group, chuckling as I spat profanities at her. She just ignored me and continued to snicker. Soon, she lead the group to a dark door at the end of a drafty hallway, with florescent lights flickering above. A bloody hand print was smeared from the doorknob, all the way down the door leading to a dead female nurse sprawled across the floor. Dr. Lana bent down, kneeling next to the corpse, searching for something.
        "Aha, there it is," she grinned, ripping an object from the woman's neck. It was a necklace with an old-looking key hanging from it. She then walked to the door, unlocking it and ordering the surgeons to take me to the operating table that was set up in the middle of the room. They shoved me onto it, roughly tearing the straitjacket off of me. They ignored my frustrated cries for help as they strapped each of my limbs down with several layers of rope, so tight it was rubbing against my skin. After that, all of them left the room excitedly, chatting about some of the things they were going to do to me.
        Now that I was alone, I started to cry. I had tried to show that I was only pissed off, trying to look tougher than I was, but I was really scared to death. I sobbed harder, a cold wave of despair spreading throughout my heart. Last time this happened with Dr. Lana's father, I had Claire with me. I had my dad, trying to save me by calling the cops. I had my own little escape of drawing, and watching TV. I had distractions, I had my stuffed plushies to comfort me. But now I had none of that, only frantic and horrifying drawings on the wall of previous victims, the massacre of the good doctors and nurses that previously worked here, and my own wails to keep me company.