Awareness

The world was blurred, far away, as if I were experiencing it from an immeasurable distance. I could see fuzzy white shadows around me, but it took all my effort to keep them from slipping into unconsciousness. I tried to move, but it seemed like my limbs wouldn’t obey me. I lay quiet, focusing on my breathing, willing the woolen wrapping around my mind to dissipate. Gradually, my surroundings came into focus. I could see, above me, the gentle glow of white ambiance lights. Beside my bed was a machine, blinking softly with green lights. To the other side, I could see a figure moving, and pushed it into focus, revealing a woman in a white coat, her hair black and long, held back from her dark skinned face by a strip of red cloth. I tried, but her features remained a blur. She leaned down over me, speaking softly.

“Ah. You’re awake, Mr. Criminal.” A cool hand was placed on my head. “Please, don’t try to move. You’re heavily sedated, and since we don’t know who you are, you’re also quite strongly restrained.” Her cold fingers gently pressed into the side of my neck. “Besides, we still have some work to do.”

I felt, as if from a long way away, a tiny pinprick in my throat, beside her fingers. I tried to struggle, but her other hand held my head still, and my limbs still would not obey me. I felt the darkness well up behind my eyes, and fell back into it, the white room flying upwards and far away from me. I reached out, stretching for awareness, but the walls of shadow rushed over and around me, and consciousness faded.

I jerk awake, sitting bolt upright, my surroundings unfamiliar. I look around, hands fumbling at my sides for a weapon, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I relax, making out the familiar features and layouts of a Veto member apartment. I swing my legs to the floor, and take a deep breath, as memory comes back to me: I’d fallen asleep on Caerephon’s couch, after helping him home. The poor lad had drunk too much again. I stand, my legs protesting slightly, stiff from sleeping on the less than comfortable couch, and make my way to the bathroom. The lights flick on to maximum as I cross the threshold, their glare stabbing into my eye sockets, and I wince reflexively, squeezing my eyes tightly. “Lights, dim,” I mutter, and the computer obeys, draining the white brilliance down to a dim incandescent glow.

My vision regained, I twist the cool chrome handle of the sink’s faucet, letting the water run cold. I lean down over it, watching the stream of water twinkle in the orange warmth of the room, and then put my cupped hands into its flow. The frigid shock makes my breath stop for a moment, and before I can recover, I splash the handful of icy liquid into my face, making my muscles contract with a jerk, a shiver rushing up and down my spine, and causing me to let out a shuddering exhalation. I stand upright, the water slowly dripping down my chin and neck, beginning to soak my black undershirt, and I reach for a towel, wiping my hands and face dry.

The door to the bedroom is well kept, and hardly makes a noise as I inch it open, then slide in. I leave the lights dark, not wanting to disturb the occupant, a young blonde Gallentean man, sprawled on the twisted sheets of his bed. I quietly push the door closed behind me with a click, and step forward, so that I am standing over him. He is muttering something in his sleep, and his eyes are flickering rapidly under his eyelids. I let my sight adjust to the dark, then lean over a little and run my hand through his soft golden hair. He doesn’t respond at first, but then he mumbles something, and his legs twitch. I feel a grin across my face, but can’t help it. I pull the covers back over his sleeping form, then silently let myself out, and make my way back to my own apartment.