1

Sam sat straight up, breathing as hard as if he had run for many miles. Slowly, he pushed a hand through his spiky dark blond hair and stared at the plain white sheets. He waited for his heartbeat to slow before he chanced a glance through the window.

The darkness outside was not absolute; here and there, patches of light shone. Sam felt the rumble of a train as it rushed past on its busy errands. A sense of security crept over him as he rolled over and turned on the lamp.

There was a man standing in the doorway.

Sam stared at him.

He stared at Sam.

Then he shot Sam in the shoulder.

Sam looked at the dart sticking out of his shirt and slumped back against the pillow as blackness spread across his eyes.

:::::

The straps cut into his wrists. The bright lights blinded him. Sam fought blindly, not knowing what was real and what was hallucinated. A needle pricked his skin and he lost all control, floating in the half-awake place that comes just before sleep.

The sudden blast of pain in his forearm brought him back quickly.

Sam screamed as the surgeons gathered around, completely silent and watching the operation with a manic glint in their eyes. The pain was so infinite, so great, it was impossible for him to remain conscious.

Once more, Sam blacked out.

:::::

"Would you wake up already?"

The voice was pleasant and light, if a bit annoyed. Sam blearily opened his eyes and blinked several times to clear the blurriness.

Slowly, a girl came into focus. A long braid of black hair was thrown carelessly over one shoulder. Intelligent eyes looked him over carefully.

He realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

Then he wished that he had worked harder during P.E.

Sam sat up, immediately wishing he hadn't. Waves of nausea crashed over him. He held his breath until he felt light-headed, then turned away from the girl and retched.

"That's… disgusting."

"Water," Sam croaked, coughing hoarsely.

A clear glass of the liquid came to his attention; he clutched it and desperately gulped it down. Too soon, it came to an end. He breathed deeply and tried to stay calm as he looked around. The room was like a hospital; everything was blindingly white and plain, with sharp edges and a chemical smell. He wasn't strapped down anymore, but looking at the girl's futuristic pistol confirmed his fear- he was a prisoner.

"So, what do you want from me?" Sam asked her.

"Me? Nothing. They’re the ones who want something from you."

"They?"

The girl's eyes flitted down to his forearm. She swallowed. "Yeah. They."

Sam followed her gaze and immediately felt sick to his stomach.

There was a huge, red line on his skin, sewn up with what had to be at least twenty neat stitches.

"When did that get there?"

She answered him with a question of her own. "What do you remember?"

"What?"

"Just tell me. Now."

"Well…" Sam froze. His eyes glazed over, then refocused as he stared, panicked, at the girl. "I don't know. I can't remember anything!"