Today the symptoms have subsided yet it doesn't give me any relief because I know this will be short-lived. It always is. Once I start to recover, Ben returns with another set of syringes and the pain starts all over again.

I pull the blanket over my head to block out the blinding brightness but small pricks of light filter through. The sound of the door opening makes me pull the blanket around me tighter as though somehow a flimsy piece of fabric will stop them.

The rattling trolley clatters noisily towards me, taunting me with the knowledge I'll be subjected to more injections, more horrendous symptoms, more pain.

'Time for you to eat.' Ben pulls back the blanket, and I blink several times.

The odd outfit he recently started wearing has been replaced by the usual white coat him and his colleagues wear. He smiles widely and attempts to pull me up to sitting.

I hate his smile.

Smacking his hands away, I sit myself up slowly and every one of my muscles creaks with the movement.

I feel like an old decrepit woman. Maybe, time has passed faster than I thought and I've been here years. I hope not.

Ben offers me a bowl of food which I don't take. He frowns. 'You must eat to keep your strength up.'

You mean, I must eat so you can continue your tests.

I snatch the bowl and slowly spoon the thick liquid into my mouth. My throat is raw and the food hurts on the way down to my stomach. My arm shakes with the exertion, but I refuse to ask for help.

I'd rather starve than allow Ben to feed me.

Ben sits on the edge of the bed and waits until I've finished, before taking my empty bowl and spoon. My eyes drift to the top shelf of the trolley positioned next to the bed, and my stomach drops when I see a machine.

'We're only taking a few samples, then you'll have some time to rest.' Ben starts to hook me up to the machine, inserting wires into my arms which have been poked so often I'm surprised my blood is still contained within my now porous skin.

Every time his skin touches mine I flinch, and a brief pained expression passes across his face which confuses me.

I'm the one being experimented on, not you.

I'd like to believe he feels guilty about what he's doing though I doubt it. I'm certain I'm searching for empathy in a moral vacuum.

Ben presses a number of buttons on the machine. A hum and buzz fill the room, and my arm tingles where the tube is connected. I watch my blood run along the clear tube through the machine and into a bag. I don't feel nauseous anymore at the sight. instead, I feel violated as I watch it enter the machine.

That's mine. That blood belongs to me.

I instinctively reach for the tube to pull it out but Ben reacts swiftly, his fingers gently pressing on the connection to my arm as he shakes his head. 'We're only collecting a small volume of blood. You'll be fine.'

I don't believe him. I'm sure they want to kill me. Their plan is to slowly drain me dry until all that's left of me is a hollowed-out bag of skin and bones.

An image of the dead rotten corpses me and Zach found return, but this time they're pale and bloodless. Even with the risk of Virulence, I'd rather die free than be penned in this room. Except until today, I haven't been able to walk, let alone plan an escape.

'Do my family think I'm dead?' I don't recognise my voice, my vocal cords are strained and tight due to the lack of use and regular vomiting.

Ben doesn't mask his surprise at my question, or maybe he's more surprised I've voluntarily said a sentence which doesn't involve insults or retching sounds.

'When I first arrived, I heard someone say something about me dying of Virulence,' I croak.

Ben clears his throat. 'Everyone you know was told you died of Virulence.'

'Why?'

'It provides closure for everyone involved.'

'You mean it makes it easier for you to get away with keeping me prisoner,' I retort, leaning my head back, I close my eyes. Holding back the tears, I rub my neck in a bid to ease the tension in my muscles which are knotted and twisted like I've aged decades since I arrived. In truth, I don't know how long I've been here. I'd guess a few days, possibly a week. 'Am I in the Techie settlement?'

'Yes.'

'How long are you planning on keeping me here?'

'That depends on the outcome of the next step,' Ben says vaguely.

I don't bother to ask what the next step is. Ben only tells me what he wants me to know. 'Why do you want my blood?'

'To analyse several factors which indicate how you're immune system has responded to being ill.' Ben smiles gently and perches on the end of my bed.

Why are you smiling? This is not a happy occasion. 'You made me ill,' I say flatly, my voice devoid of any emotion.

A muscle along Ben's jaw throbs slightly, and he looks away. 'Can you remember what you learnt about Virulence? Why was it so deadly?'

I swallow in a bid to wet my dry throat. 'It's ability to survive for long periods without a host and to attack lots of different cells. It also produces toxins, to attack white blood cells, which lowers the immune system allowing it to invade cells and reproduce inside them.'

'Anything else?' Ben smiles encouragingly as though this is a science lesson.

If it was a science lesson, I would be enthusiastic and listening intently. The immune response had always been my favourite topic, but I'm not at school and Ben is not my teacher, he's my captor.

This is not a science lesson. This is a hostage situation.

I gaze up at the ceiling, annoyed at myself for starting a conversation with him. I'm also annoyed I haven't tried to escape. Although, the thought of even planning how I would escape is exhausting. When I stop feeling so weak I will make an attempt, no matter who I have to touch.

I can't continue on like this.

'Kit? What else?' Ben prompts me.

'It rapidly mutates, meaning white blood cells don't recognise them, which allows Virulence to replicate and spread so quickly through the body that the immune system couldn't fight it off before the person died,' I whisper.

'Exactly, but you are different. Your immune system is able to respond at a much faster rate. In addition to this, many of your body cells have a number of adaptations which change the cell membrane making it harder for certain pathogens to enter.'

'Why?' I press my fingers against my temples trying to cool the hot throbbing.

'You're DNA was altered.'

'Altered?' I ask weakly.

'Is there a problem?' Louisa stands in the doorway, rigid and stiff.

The machine next to me is beeping loudly indicating it has stolen enough of my blood for now. Neither of us noticed. Ben was too engrossed in our conversation, and I seem to have lost the ability to differentiate between the noises in my head and real life.

'Everything is on track.' Ben presses several buttons and the beeping stops. His mouth flattens and his brow furrows. He won't say anything further in front of her.

'Let's proceed then,' Louisa snaps.

Ben detaches the tube from my arm, picks up the bag of my blood, walks over to Louisa and hands it to her. She snatches it from his hand unsmiling. Ben says, 'I'll inject tester V-one now.'

'Get one of the other's to do it. I don't understand why you're dealing with such menial tasks. You have more important duties awaiting you,' Louisa sounds irritated.

'Have I ever not completed my duties or missed a deadline?' Ben stands in front of her, awaiting her response.

'Just hurry up.' Louisa scowls, spinning on her heels before she walks off, not looking at me once.

Ben glances at me. 'I'll be back in a moment.'

I don't respond as he leaves the room, and the door in the wall closes behind him. Tired and light-headed, the exertion of our earlier conversation has left me drained. This is not normal.

I lean back on the bed, processing what he's said. How have they altered my DNA? How can they be sure I'm resistant to so many diseases? What is tester V-one?

Ben returns, wearing the ridiculous outfit. Walking towards me, he has a syringe in hand and his eyes look troubled. He's probably wondering, like Louisa, why he promised to undertake all the duties associated with me.

It's clear from the way the other white-coated minions respond to his instructions he has authority, yet he's doing jobs that I assume are normally given to people below him. Maybe, he'll change his mind, he owes me nothing. The thought fills me with dread.

I'm resentful and grateful to Ben. The idea of multiple strangers handling me would make this already terrible experience far more unbearable. I look away as Ben plunges the syringe into my arm. Withdrawing it, he pauses for a second as though he's deciding what to say.

'Remember, the symptoms won't last long.' Ben's muffled voice is almost apologetic.

I consider asking him to help me escape but I know it would be pointless. If he's willing to put me through all this I'm giving him too much credit. He's callous and uncaring.

The only person I can rely on is myself.