As consciousness began to gnaw at the edges of his mind, he stretched, as if waking from a soothing dream, only to find his hands stopped by the confines of the fluid filled tube. Instantly, his eyes snapped open, his breathing hitched and his heart rate seemed to double. He didn’t understand his reaction, couldn’t comprehend the fear that gripped him, all he knew was he had to get out.

Finding a needle entrenched beneath the skin of his left hand, he yanked on the wire attached to it and gritted his teeth to the pain as it tore away from the vein. Suddenly, the rest of the wires and tubes removed themselves, seemingly of their own accord, and he was too relieved to no longer be hooked up to some alien machine that he didn’t even notice the stings or the soothing effect the green fluid provided afterwards.

The feeling of relief was short-lived however as a gurgling noise resonated through the confining tube and panic once again gripped him. Raising hands he didn’t recognise as his own, he ripped the oxygen mask from his face and began to push with all his might against the glass that, to his eyes, was closing in on him. With an almighty heave, he managed to force the hatch open and fell coughing and spluttering to the floor on his hands and knees, along with half the fluid from the semi-drained tank.

While his breathing returned to normal, he crouched on the goo-covered floor and took in his surroundings. He didn’t recognise the room he was in as his own, but he couldn’t remember what his room should look like. Slowly standing on shaky legs, he made his way over to the towel and clothes that had been laid out on a bench, apparently for him. While he wiped away the remnants of the green fluid, he quietly marvelled at the body he found himself in, lightly running a hand over a large scar on his right hip. He found himself thinking that it must have hurt a lot when the wound had happened but, no matter how hard he focused on the pale, smooth patch of skin, he couldn’t recall the event.

Shrugging off the feeling of unease not knowing his own name gave him, he pulled on the long, blue pants and tucked the matching shirt in the waistband. He completely ignored the white tennis shoes. Going barefoot and shirtless seemed completely natural to him. He studied himself in the mirror for a few minutes, trying to familiarise himself with the visage that was completely new to him, running his hand down his slightly crooked nose, wondering if he’d been born thus or if he’d broken it a few times.

As he turned to leave, he noticed a bottle with a ‘Drink Me’ message taped to it. Without a second thought, he swallowed the contents in one hit. The dry, bitter taste was vaguely familiar but, knowing that he wouldn’t remember, he decided not to dwell on it. Instantly, he felt refreshed and ready to go and, once again, made his way for the door. Pausing for a second to figure out how the keypad worked, he left the small, stuffy room, wanting only one thing: To find out who the hell he was.

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