So, before I’ve worked as an agent, I was a broke student, trying to make ends meet. One of those extra jobs I took on, other than working my shifts at the café, was signing up as a test subject for various medical studies. This is all above the board, of course. 

 

Most of them are boring little things. Take this pill. Wait for a while. Fill out this questionnaire. Come back if you feel weird. Rinse and repeat. Those don’t pay very much. I needed cash, more than usual that month, so I had to well… take up more *challenging* work. 

 

I saw the flyer stuck on the regular job board at school one day. It looked innocent enough. Well, I was also stupid back then. 

 

A quick scan of the information told me what I needed to know. An anaesthetic experiment, a one-day commitment. And most importantly, it paid as well as one of those months long experiment. Sounds good. I signed up.

 

I got an email pretty quickly with the rest of the details — date and time and where to report to. I went. They explained. It was a bunch of jargon and science that I didn’t really listen to. They gave me a piece of paper and I signed up. So far, there was nothing out of the ordinary. All standard SOP. 

 

This time, it was. 

 

They gave me a gown. I got changed. Others like me sat around in their gowns. Some looked uncomfortable, clutching their paperwork like it’s a shield. Others, the usual people I’ve seen in and out of studies such as this, occupied themselves with their phones. 

 

One by one, we all got IVs in our arms as preparation. The gist of what was about to happen was simple. Lay down on the MRI table with headphones on. Words would be played through it. All we needed to do was hit a button when we heard them. That’s it. 

 

Now the catch is propofol, or is it ketamine? I told you I wasn’t listening. Anyway, one of those drugs would be flowing into our veins at an ever-increasing dose until we lost consciousness. As that’s all going on, scans would be taken of our brains. 

 

Simple enough — in theory. 

 

A doctor and nurse team hung around, looking mildly interested at everything going on. An 02 tank and defibrillation machine stood ready to go by their side. 

 

Is that meant to be reassuring? 

 

Well, the people in charge had said, the subjects — that would be me — wouldn’t be sedated that deeply to require oxygen support. People are given propofol all the time without needing it. Blah blah blah. Sure, fine, whatever. Just give me my money when this is all done. 

 

Suffice to say, there was a long wait since there was only one MRI machine. I fiddled with my phone, trying to do some class reading while I had the time. Everyone was in and out in thirty minutes or less. No alarms blared with the doctor screaming for help. When the test was gone, the volunteers were wheeled out on a wheelchair, taking to a recovery room to… well, recover. 

 

So far, so good.

 

Eventually, it was my turn. I changed into the provided gown. They let me keep my sports bra and underwear on. Good. Cause, why would they even require them off? A blood pressure cuff got wrapped around my arm, an oximeter clipped to my finger. And they helped me onto the table. It was hard and uncomfortable. But mostly, it was the sheer chill in the air that got to me. Whatever. Let’s get this show on the road. I needed the money. 

 

“Ms Yu. We’re going to start.” 

 

“Okay.” I spoke out loud as I adjusted the headphone’s head band. They were too loose. It clicked a couple of notches down. “Yeah ready.” 

 

I waited. Something beeped next to me, probably the infusion pump. A burning sensation seared into my veins. I winced. “That supposed to hurt like that?” 

 

“Yes. Propofol can be like that. Sorry, but you’ll have to bear with it.” 

 

The sounds started. It was a voice speaking nonsense words like submarine, bird, bathroom, Paul, Mary. Nothing special. I listened, I pressed the button and I—

 

“Ms Yu… Are you with us?” I blinked as I tried to make sense of what happened. Head shaking, I gagged and turned over. A bucket was already there to catch the water I drank earlier as it made its way out again. It burnt. Fuck. 

 

“Over?” I managed to gasp. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Somehow I made it off the table and into a wheelchair without face planting to the floor. That was a win. Doubt I could do better. I was awake. Not groggy, but weak. I’ve been turned off like a light bulb and then switched back on again. The sensation was disconcerting. 

 

“Vitals steady. O2 normal. She’s fine.” a doctor said. And off I went, or rather was pushed. 

 

“Did I faint or something?” I asked the nurse wheeling me away. 

 

“No. Your part went as expected. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. The throwing up is pretty common. Don’t worry about it.” 

 

And that was that. The nurse helped me onto a bed and gave me a fresh blanket. “Just rest here. Do not leave until a doctor says you can. Meanwhile, if you still feel like you need to—“ 

 

Someone else threw up beside me. There was the unmistakable sound of something wet hitting the bottom of a plastic bucket. I made a face. The privacy curtain did its job. “Yeah, I get the idea.” I looked around and found said bucket. “Into that, eh?” 

 

The nurse nodded and left. 

 

Alone, I sighed. There was nothing to do. My stuff was still in the locker, along with my clothes. No phone equaled a bored as fuck Ruo. My gut churned. Better to lay down. Stretched out, I curled onto the bed and covered myself with the blanket. Hopefully, this nausea would stop soon. 

 

A pair of shoes shuffled from bed to bed. Low voices, muttered responses, and a pen was scraped across paper. More feet shuffling and fabric swishing later, someone left. It would soon be my turn, I’m sure of it. But waiting was boring, and I fell asleep. 

 

----

 

Waking up in a strange place is disconcerting at the best of times. Everything was unfamiliar and off. Not that I have a lot of experience with that. Yeah, what about it? I don’t do one night stands or fucking around.  If you like it, cool balls. But to me, sex is just a waste of time. I mean, it’s nice and all, but I must prefer getting myself off and being done with it. It’s just not my thing. 

 

Anyway, where was I? Yes, right. Waking up in a strange place. 

 

“Ms Yu?” 

 

The curtain parted. I sat up. This time, I felt myself. The nausea had passed, and I’m not as wobbly as a newborn fawn. “Yeah, I’m up.” 

 

A doctor entered with a clipboard. She wheeled a cart with her. Within moments, I was hooked up to a blood pressure cuff and oximeter again. This doctor would be the last person popping to mind if I had to imagine up one. Blonde hair with rainbow dyed tips, bundled up in a high ponytail, a pair of gold rimmed round glasses perched on her nose — the kind Harry Potter wore — as she consistently pushed it up with her finger. I had to resist the urge to adjust the frames for her. 

 

Call it older sibling twitchiness. I have siblings. Some of them seemed to enjoy sitting on their glasses, and I had to fix them. 

 

“Ms Yu, your vitals look fine. How are you feeling?” 

 

“Fine. The nausea is gone. Can I go? When will I get paid?” 

 

“Oh it’s here.” The doctor tapped a cheque that’s on the cart. She unwrapped the cuff from my arm after she scribbled the numbers onto her clipboard. “Here are your clothes.” 

 

I took the plastic packaging from her. It had all my stuff. My eyes narrowed. I didn’t like that they took my stuff from the locker without my permission. I mean, I locked it in the *locker*, but they clearly had the keys to it and *unlocked* it. Kind of defeats the purpose, no?

 

The doctor hummed and muttered random stuff under her breath as I pulled my shirt and pants from the package and shook them out. The doctor… A glance to her chest revealed no name tag, no name. This whole thing is quite weird in ways I couldn’t articulate. I cleared my throat. The doctor looked at me questioningly. “I kind of want to change. Changing in front of you isn’t part of the deal, right?” 

 

“Oh right, right. Sorry.“ The doctor went through the curtains and closed them behind her. However, the doctor couldn’t seem to stop talking to herself. I listened. “Interesting numbers. Candidate levels. Yes… I think we found…” 

 

What the ever living fuck? 

 

I pulled the curtain open, thinking it would startle the doctor. It didn’t. She was that engrossed. Finally realising I was just standing there, she smiled and said, “The information we gathered from the study will further the study of anaesthetic-induced unconsciousness.” 

 

I blinked. “Right…” Reaching out, I made for the cheque. “But my part is done, right?” 

 

“Oh yes, definitely. My department will be conducting more experiments, of a related sort, if you’re interested.” 

 

Oh, hell no. It paid well, but this was pinging all of my alarm bells. “No thanks.” Cheque in hand, it’s time to make my escape. 

 

“Wait!” The doctor called out. “Here, take this flyer. Just in case you change your mind.” 

 

I laughed and shook my head. “Don’t need it.” 

 

----

 

One month later, with my upcoming tuition fee hanging over my hand, rent being due again, and the café refusing to give me extra hours, I was looking at the flyer the doctor had been waving in my face.  

 

Fuck my life.