I drift up through darkness. Consciousness returns in fragments as my brain boots up.

First comes the sensation of touch: cool air on bare skin, pressure around my wrists, on my back, on my thighs and ankles. A moment later, my sense of position; proprioception. I’m on my back, my arms splayed outwards, my legs in a strange position.

I try to rub my eyes, but the pressure on my wrists keeps them from moving.

It takes several seconds, maybe a whole minute, to process what just those two senses are reporting, what all that means. I'm lying on my back, restrained somehow.

Next, I hear a steady beeping. It’s increasing in speed as I wake up. No memories yet, but the sound seems familiar.

My eyes are closed. Only with some effort am I able to force them open. As soon as I do, I blink against harsh, circular lights overhead. Surgical lights. The operating room comes into fuzzy focus, and with it, my fragmented memories.

I'm completely naked, immobilized, and splayed open on the operating table. I remember being caught, overpowered.

My mouth feels incredibly dry. I try to swallow but barely produce enough saliva. My whole body feels sore, like I’ve just run a marathon or fought a wrestling match, which, in a way I did.

I try to move my arms again, turning to look at my wrists restrained to the table’s perpendicular armboards. I’ve seen Velcro positioning straps used here before, the kind intended for patients at risk of pulling out IVs or simply moving too much while anesthetized for surgery. The restraints here are not those, but padded leather cuffs that more resemble something from a 1950s insane asylum. I don’t know where they came from, but I’m not sliding out of them any time soon.

I lift my head slightly, fighting against residual dizziness, and look down the length of my body. As I feared, I’m completely naked; my clothes and underwear both gone. ECG electrodes have been placed on my naked chest. That’s not good.

Much worse, my legs are elevated and separated, positioned in the yellow leg-lifting stirrups that hold my feet and ankles. I'm in the lithotomy position; as if someone’s positioned me for a gynecology, urological, or rectal procedure. I try to pull my feet down, but unsurprisingly, the yellow boots and straps are tight and strong enough that it’s useless. A strangled noise escapes my throat as I realize how completely vulnerable I am. My heart beats faster and I hear the heartbeat monitor on the anesthesia machine match it. I try to stay calm and finish examining my situation. I’m not going to find a way out by panicking.

I don’t see any people around, thankfully. But it’s obvious the room has been transformed since I lost consciousness. The anesthesia machine has been pushed back to its usual position above my head. I can stretch to see it; its displays glowing with data, my heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and now ECG and respiratory traces.

My eyes dart around the room, taking in details that send fresh waves of adrenaline through my system. Surgical instruments have been arranged on a Mayo stand beside the table; gleaming metal specula, retractors, forceps, and scissors. An electrocautery unit sits ready, its grounding pad visible but not yet attached to my body. A black endoscope is coiled on a blue-draped table nearby that I’m sure wasn’t there before. Everything is positioned as I’ve seen it used during the work week, all as if in preparation for an actual procedure. Or more than one procedure.

I remember the clock on the OR wall. It reads 6:17 PM. I try to remember when I started my self-administered anesthesia experiment; the surgical center closed at 4, so it couldn’t have been long after 5:00. More than an hour has passed that I can't account for. An hour during which someone, the nurse who caught me, has prepared this nightmarish scenario.

The door to the operating room swings open, and she enters, as if summoned by my thoughts. Now that I can think clearly, I know who this is. It's Nurse Evelyn, the British transplant who joined the surgical center staff six months ago. I suddenly recall it was her birthday cake crumbs I cleaned up an hour or so ago.

She’s fully attired for the OR now, a disposable yellow isolation gown tied over her scrubs, her hair tucked completely under a bouffant cap. No hint visible of her red locks anymore. Her hands are white latex.

Her bright blue eyes above her mask crinkle at the corners, suggesting the smile I can't see.

"Ah, you're awake," she says, her accent pronounced as she approaches the table. "Welcome back to the land of the living. How are we feeling, then?"

"What the hell is this?" I croak, my voice hoarse. "Let me go right now!"

Nurse Evelyn tilts her head, studying me with amusement. "That's not a very diplomatic way to address the person who caught you abusing clinic equipment, is it? You're in quite a sticky wicket. Imagine what administration would think if they knew you were playing doctor after hours."

She moves to the anesthesia machine, checking the displays as if we’re in a normal, professional situation. "Your vitals are stable. No worse for wear, I think. How’s the nausea?" I have no nausea, thankfully, but I don’t answer.

"Why am I restrained? Why am I…" I can't even say it, the vulnerability of my naked, exposed position.

Nurse Evelyn laughs, the sound light and warm despite the circumstances. "Why are you strapped down and undressed? Self-preservation, love. Couldn't have you waking up and bolting before we had our little chat."

"As for the stirrups, well, I needed to conduct a thorough examination while you were under. Very thorough. I had to make sure you were healthy enough for what I have planned, you understand."

Heat floods my face as the implication sinks in. I think she’s joking, but I have no way to really know. "You had no right…"

"Rights?" she interrupts, stepping closer to the table. "Let's discuss rights, shall we? Did you have the right to use the anesthesia machine on a lark? To use controlled substances for your personal entertainment?" She leans over me, her eyes intense above her mask. "No, you didn't. But I understand why you did it. We're not so different, you and I."

"What do you mean?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart. The beep of the heart monitor betrays me.

"I saw how you set everything up. The care you took with the preperation. The way you monitored yourself." She runs a gloved finger along my forearm, a strangely gentle and intimate gesture. "I think you’ve been planning this a long time. And I also think you weren't just curious about the physical sensation. You wanted to experience the vulnerability, the surrender of control. The submission."

Her assessment hits uncomfortably close to the truth. I don’t know what to say to her. She’s not exactly right, but it’s frighteningly close. There’s for sure some connection between the equipment I’m especially interested in and intense power dynamics; anesthesia has, along with it, the requirement to complete surrender to another's care. I, of course, don’t voice this, but my silence speaks volumes.

"While you seem to enjoy being the patient," she continues, "I prefer the other role. The one who decides what needs to happen. When consciousness begins and ends. The one who holds complete power over another human being." Her eyes glitter. "Quite the perfect match, wouldn't you say?"

"You're crazy," I whisper, though I think I don’t really mean it. I think she can tell that I actually do understand. I feel something inside me; not just fear, but a flicker of dark excitement I don't want to acknowledge.

"Crazy? No. Unconventional, perhaps." Evelyn moves to the foot of the table, between my spread legs, and I feel a fresh wave of vulnerability. "Here's what's going to happen. It's Friday night. No one's due back until Monday morning. You and I are going to this entire weekend exploring our mutual interests. I’ll send you under in various ways; different medicines, different combinations. I was an anesthesia nurse in England, you know. I'll take care of you quite professionally, of course."

"You can't just keep me here," I protest, though my voice lacks conviction. "People will look for me."

She raises an eyebrow. "Will they? The solitary IT worker who avoids social interaction and lives alone? Will anyone call on you?” I don’t answer, and again my silence speaks. “No. You're not due anywhere until Monday morning. Same as me."

I struggle against the restraints, panic rising again. "This is kidnapping!" I protest. It’s not halfhearted; I’m genuinely scared, even if that’s not the only emotion anymore.

"It’s hardly kidnapping," she counters smoothly. "You mostly did this to yourself. I just… helped you a bit.”

What you should realize now, love,” she continues. “Is that I could easily report what I caught you doing. That's career-ending at minimum, maybe even criminal charges." She leans over me, staring into my eyes. "Or, we could have a mutually beneficial weekend. You get to explore your fascination with anesthesia in ways you never could alone. I get to practice my skills and indulge my own… interests."

Her gloved hand rests on my thigh, the touch clearly intended to be suggestive, intimate. "Do we understand each other?"

I stare up at the surgical lights, my thoughts racing. The situation is surreal, terrifying, and yet… I can't deny the dark thread of excitement growing under my fear. Part of me has always wondered what it would be like to fully surrender to anesthesia in the hands of someone who knows what they're doing. To let go completely.

Something in her tone, in the absurd situation itself, makes a hysterical laugh bubble up from my chest. "This is insane."

"Perhaps," she agrees, "but I think it's exactly what you wanted. Just not how you expected to get it."

"What exactly are you planning to do to me?" I ask, my voice steadier now.

"I’m going to put you to sleep again," Evelyn tells me. "I’ll try different induction techniques. A sevo mask induction, as you've already experienced. We’ll try the isoflurane, too, I think. A standard propofol induction. Certainly ketamine in some combination. Perhaps etomidate, if I decide you’ll risk the side effects" Her voice takes on a dreamy quality. "I’m told each one feels different going under."

I swallow. “You can’t just anesthetize me over and over,” I object, but I don’t think I’m convincing.

She doesn’t seem convinced. “It’s definitely not recommended. But neither is the scheme I caught you playing out, is it? There are some risks, but you’ve already been taking some of those, haven’t you? I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”

I swallow hard, looking down at my spread legs. "And the position I'm in now? The surgical tools?"

"I think it's better if I don't explain everything I have planned," she says, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Fear of the unknown heightens the experience, doesn't it? You’re vulnerable. Exposed. At my mercy." Her eyes crinkle as the heartbeat tone speeds up. "All I’m going tell you is that you won’t feel a thing."

Nurse Evelyn leans closer. "If you cooperate, though, this could be quite pleasant for you too. Some patients report euphoria, lovely dreams. You may even find the experience… arousing." Her tone drops on the last word, sending an involuntary shiver through me.

I close my eyes, weighing my options. While she’s implied I have a choice, I suspect there really is none. She has me literally and figuratively tied down. Fighting seems pointless; she controls the drugs, the restraints, everything. But I’m not ready to trust her, even with the desire she’s ignited below my fear.

“Please, just let me go,” I protest again. But I’m not sure if I really mean it.

"I don't think you mean that, love" Evelyn reads my thoughts, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She moves to stand beside me, her white gloved fingertip tracing a line from my collarbone down my naked chest, all the way to my waist. "I think you're just scared to admit it."

The latex of her glove feels cool against my skin. I shiver again, and my breath catches involuntarily. Evelyn leans in close. I can feel her warm breath through the mask she’s wearing. She whispers in my ear.

"You enjoyed it, didn't you? When I caught you… when I held you down… when I made you breathe in the gas until you couldn't fight anymore."

My pulse quickens, betraying me on the monitor with an accelerating beep. My memories replay as she describes them; her weight on my chest, my useless struggle, the sweet smelling gas filling my lungs against my will. I realize, to my horror, that I’m getting noticeably aroused thinking about it.

"I saw your eyes before they closed," she continues, voice silky and intimate. "That moment when fear gave way to something else. When you realized you couldn't stop it happening. You want that feeling again, don’t you?"

I don’t answer. My mind races. I can’t help but feel she’s right. But I think about all the surgical tools laid out. And I don’t trust that I have a real choice here.

"You're going to put me under again no matter what I say, aren't you?" I finally ask.

"Clever," she says approvingly. "You'll be spending quite a bit of time off with the fairies this weekend. But how pleasant that time is, and how pleasant the time in between is, depends entirely on your attitude."

She moves to the head of the table, starting up the fresh gas flows. "Shall we begin? Don’t answer. You’re right, you don’t have much of a choice. A little nitrous again to start, I think."

Despite everything, I feel my resistance beginning to crumble. The fear remains, but alongside it grows a perverse curiosity. What would it be like to experience all those different anesthetics, administered by someone who knows exactly what they're doing? I think I’m going to find out.

She lowers the mask towards my face, holding my chin only lightly with her gloved hand. I move my head to the side, trying to avoid the mask. It's a futile gesture, but some part of my brain, maybe the majority, still rejects the idea of submitting so. The mask follows my movement, and her grip on my chin tightens.

"Let’s have no foolishness," Evelyn scolds, her tone sharpening.

She presses the mask firmly against my face, creating a tight seal. "Deep breaths now. Be sensible."

Against my better judgment, I feel myself relaxing slightly. The fact that it’s all being decided for me is strangely reassuring, even as the situation remains profoundly frightening. I do as instructed, and begin to breath, deeply.

She turns the nitrous oxide flowmeter, and I hear the gas begin to hiss through the circuit. "Just breathe normally. Fifty percent to start, I think. You'll feel it soon enough."

I inhale obediently. I can’t really smell it, but within moments, the familiar warm tingling begins in my extremities, slowly spreading inward. The steady beeping from the pulse monitor starts to slow.

"There you go," Nurse Evelyn says, her tone suddenly soothing instead of sharp. "Just like that. Nice deep breaths."

The nitrous works quickly, creating the same vibrating sensation I experienced earlier. The fear fades, replaced by a slight detachment that makes my situation seem less threatening, more surreal. The restraints around my wrists and ankles no longer feel quite as imprisoning. I forget about my nakedness after a few more breaths. My head starts to feel fuzzy, as if cotton is being stuffed into my brain.

"Good?" she asks, watching my face closely. I nod, unable to deny the pleasant sensations washing through me. I try to organize my thoughts. The gas already makes it difficult to think critically, but the fear and desire still war within me. Evelyn watches me with those intense blue eyes, monitoring my response to the nitrous oxide. She seems to know exactly what she's doing with the anesthesia equipment. Professional. Controlled.

Can I trust her? She's holding me captive, but there's something oddly reassuring about her dominance. She’s confident, and she clearly knows what she's doing. But she's also clearly unhinged, willing to cross professional and ethical boundaries without hesitation.

Just like I am.

I really did want this, in some way.

"Alright," I say finally, my voice muffled by the mask. "I'll cooperate."

Her eyes light up with genuine pleasure. "Brilliant! I knew you'd come around. We're going to have such fun together. I think we have a bit more to do tonight, but it’ll be over before you know it.”

I wonder exactly what she means, and exactly what she’s planning for me, but I don’t have time to ask.

"Now we'll add the sevoflurane. One percent to start." She adjusts the vaporizer dial. "This will be just like before, only now I’m in control the whole time."

The distinctive odor of sevoflurane mingles with the nitrous oxide. My eyelids grow heavy again, the room's edges softening. Nurse Evelyn secures the mask with the harness, which I hadn’t realized was already behind my head.

“Now, love, with both sevo and nitrous, you’ll go off quickly,” she explains. I know there’s a phenomenon where having both nitrous and a volatile on at once increases the effects, but I can’t remember if 1% is already enough to anesthetize me.

I’m starting to feel more drowsy. Like before, the nitrous made me detached, but the sevo is making me want to sleep. I force my eyes wide open, trying to stay awake as long as I can.

“Up to three percent,” Evelyn’s voice seems distant and echos in my ears. I know that’s enough to put me out. The visual hallucinations begin immediately. The vignette effect from before returns, my vision narrowing. The lights begin to wash out, strange colors begin to fade in. When Evelyn leans over me, her white mask seems to glow. The yellow color from her isolation gown seems to stretch out around the room.

"Time for dreamland again. Why don’t you count backward from one hundred?" she instructs, increasing the sevoflurane concentration. I can’t see how far, but the smell increases significantly.

"One hundred… ninety nine…ninety eight…" My voice sounds distant to my own ears, the words slurring together. I look up at her and her face seems to distort. The room begins to spin. The yellow of her gown changes into a confusing medical rainbow, yellow, blue, white, green, along with nameless colors that don’t exist in normal reality.

Nurse Evelyn's gloved hand rests gently on my forehead, a gesture that might be comforting under different circumstances. "You’re doing brilliantly. Keep going."

I’m supposed to be counting.

"Ninety seven… ninety six… ninety five…" The numbers come with increasing difficulty. I already can’t remember what number I was on. Have I made a mistake? My tongue feeling thick and uncooperative in my mouth. The ceiling above me seems to spin faster, expanding and contracting with my breathing.

"Nine…" I manage, though I can’t hear myself. I'm no longer sure if I'm speaking aloud or just thinking the numbers. What was I counting?

"Almost there," she encourages, her British accent barely penetrating my mental haze. "Just slip off again."

The room begins to spin faster, Nurse Evelyn's face above me, already blurred and stretched, begins multiplying and rejoining like a kaleidoscope image. I try to raise my hands, to pull the mask off. One last small moment of confusion. Of course, the restraints don’t let me move at all. I’ve been helpless this entire time.

"Perfect," she murmurs down at me. My eyes close of their own accord. My body relaxes. The spinning, the drowsiness, the sense of weight over my body is all too much to fight.

Consciousness fades even faster now. Darkness takes me again. My brain turns off.