Faith took another deep breath.
"I suppose not. Ready whenever."
"Good. Good." the doctor says and straps you down to the bed. "To stop you from wandering. Or removing electrodes. Or clawing out eyes." He walks to the door and flicks off the light, standing silhouetted there for an instant. "Don't worry. No chance of error. Out of human hands. Machine handles everything." And then he closes the door.
>Yes, don't worry. Machine handles everything. You're about to protest when the world is sucked into a pinhole and you're suddenly floating in nothing. You're bobbing in the water above a great and endless black, unable to turn and see what lies behind you. Above you is an endless starscape, a great black void shot through with hot points of light and luminance clouds of dust. And then you see something, a shadow creeping across those stars, a darker black then the emptiness around it, blotting out the myriad suns. It is a sillouette of endless claws and fangs and gaping maws, razor sharp probosci and writhing flesh. It chitters and cries and grunts and screams and claws its way across the galaxy toward you, mindless and violent, searching, always searching for something.
It's coming for you, you can feel it. You can feel its intentions, it's desires so powerful that they're leaking into your mind. The urge to penetrate, to grow within, to rend and reform, to tear and vivisect, to use you as mortar in its endless construction. There is no hate there, no fear, no emotion palatable to the human mind. It does what it does not out of any conscious decision but because it is inherent to its existence. And you, the entirety of the human species, mean nothing to it.
And then you're back in the room, the lights are on and the doctor is looking down at you, nodding. "We're done." he says with an unreadable tone. "I will work with this data. Find a way to protect your mind. Free to go for now. May need more tests later."