He likes to be called a surgeon, but most refer to him as the butcher for what he does. In an hour, two at the most, I値l be dead. Death will not come
quickly or easily. He値l want to keep me alive for as long as possible, harvesting my organs for the highly profitable transplant black market.
Of course, the real indignity comes after I知 finally dead. Hung upside down by sharp hooks through my ankles, I値l be moved into the walk-in cooler where the butcher will place a blood-stained bucket beneath me and, using a surgical saw, remove my head so that my body can finish bleeding out. Then, I値l be rendered into steaks, chops, and roasts tomorrow morning. The less desirable parts will be ground up as hamburger or, using my small intestines as casings, made into sausage.
Ultimately, I値l disappear, my organs sold on the black market, the rest of me ending up In dozens of wealthy cannibal痴 freezers in neatly wrapped meat packages...