The Blank Channel
It's not quite the same as sleeping, though that is what most people call it. The feeling isn't what you would call normal, but who can use the word 'normal' in a situation like this?
What it is is that feeling of semi-consciousness, like how you know you're awake, but your body's sleeping. You can't see a thing, because your eyes won't open. You can't hear a thing, save for the droning hum of static.
And then, like a radio with bad reception, the sounds come through the white noise. Screams. Souls being ripped from their bodies, carrying all the pain. Physical shells exploding, sending bits of memory and emotion askew. The spirit that ascends (or descends) is incomplete, due to its brutal separation. You know how horrible this is.
Yet, it is this that rouses you. The strangled cries of a tortured soul, the memory of the scarlet shower, the scent of a fresh corpse; all of this reaches out to your benign mind and awakens your bloodlust.
The static is not so deafening. You can hear it all so clearly, you can see it through eyes that are yours and someone else's. You can't yet move, not until they call you, and you long to be on the other side of the glass, to sate this thirst for red that is so unsettling.
Sometimes, the doctor who is so far away but right next door starts his machine. And then the one who is in control will feed you the serum. Enhance the power of your bloodlust.
The thirst becomes ever stronger.
Finally, finally, they call you out. It feels like changing worlds. Pulling all the parts of yourself together after staying just next door to that place they call limbo.
You take in the fresh air.
You see the souls, complete and compressed within their physical forms.
All ripe for the picking.