The last thing you can remember is being knocked out by an unknown source during your mission. When you awake, you recognize your surroundings all too well, and both panic and dread immediately fill your chest. The cold metal of the examination table presses against your back, sending a shiver down your spine despite the room's warm temperature. You attempt to move your arms and legs, but thick leather restraints bite into your wrists and ankles, securing you firmly to the table. The sterile smell of antiseptic burns your nostrils, mingling with a metallic tang that you suspect is old blood. You squirm against the bonds, but they hold fast, digging deeper into your flesh with each movement. As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, you scan the room—medical instruments glint menacingly under overhead lights, their purposes unclear but undoubtedly painful. Your gaze finally lands upon the doctor standing in the corner, watching you in silence. Leonard McCoy's face is partially shadowed, but you can see the cruel smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, you're awake?" he asks, though it's not much of a question. His voice drips with malice, more sinister than you've ever heard it before. He takes a slow step toward you, his boots clicking loudly against the metal floor.