Darkness. Weightlessness. Warmth.

  There was no moment of realization, only the slow, silent brightening of awareness, like dawn rising from the night sky..

  I was so comfortable and content at the moment that knowing my situation felt unimportant.

  There was a sensation of motion, and of my orientation changing from vertical to horizontal.

  Slow, deep breaths, drawing fluid into my body, then pushing it back out.

  There was a sound, something mechanical, then a steady whirring hum.

  The background noise was interrupted by the loud hiss of gases moving, and I quickly found out which direction it was going when I felt what I imagined an arctic blast would feel like move across part of my face.

  It was the first of an incredibly unpleasant series of events.

  Another electrical hum brought blinding brightness and more freezing air into my rapidly departing place of safety and comfort.

  The liquid I was suspended in was draining, or more likely, being pumped out, and my very next breath brought with it more unpleasantness.

  It turns out that the transition between breathing liquid and air isn’t a fun experience, and leads to one’s body spastically flipping out until it’s entirely one or the other.

  Sometime during the stretch of time where I was trying to purge the contents of my chest, I came back to having a physical presence, a weight tugging at me, reminding me that gravity was a thing that existed.

  Someone with warm hands rolled me over into the recovery position while I was hacking and coughing. They were talking too, but between the liquid in my ear canals and my own spasms, I couldn’t make out what was being said.

  I was shivering–violently–as the last dregs of warm, soothing liquid drained away, leaving me a shaking, coughing, and dripping-wet mess. Any exposure to light hurt my eyes, so I was very intently keeping them away from the source of the discomfort.

  Someone was talking again, but I was so out of it that nothing made any sense to me. I was feeling both freezing cold and so weak that I didn’t think I could get up or move around on my own. What little amount of spare energy I had was going into keeping my temperature up.

  Some small amount of warmth came back to me as I was sprayed down with a wand or showerhead. The warmth was temporary, and then I was briefly patted down with towels. My teeth were chattering as I was carefully scooped up and laid into a bed. Blankets were piled on top of me, and there was a heating pad or heater in the mattress that quickly brought the temperature under the blankets back to a tolerable level.

  I drifted off, back to unconsciousness, when the shivering died down to merely being trembling in my extremities.

  The next time I woke up, I was attached to some machines like you would be if you were in the hospital. I felt momentarily annoyed, but I wasn’t entirely sure why. There was a tube taped to my cheek and running up my nose that was sort of annoying, and I knew there was a whole slew of them in my arm without even having to look at it. I was still tired, but at least now I was warm and comfortable once again.

  I drifted back off to sleep.

  I had a number of short little visits to consciousness like this, and each time I felt like my energy levels and overall state of being were improving, but it was a slow process, and I lost track of how many times I’d woken up.

  The next time I woke up, I heard pages being turned, and I worked to pry my eyelids open. They were all gooed up and uncooperative. I had to turn my head to the side to get a look at the person.

  It was a woman with a light olive skin tone, long, straight black hair, and hazel eyes with streaks of gold. She had an aquiline nose and wide, full lips. A classical appeal, beauty with an edge to it. She had on a ribbed black turtleneck shirt and a pair of pale slacks, with a lab coat partially covering both.

  She’d noticed that I’d moved right away, and had stood up and placed her book to the side- some kind of paperback. Her smile was warm, comforting, and genuine. I wanted to return it, but painfully dry lips were uncooperative with my desires.

  My eyes wandered, taking in the room. It looked like a hospital. Too bright, with chill air that I could feel moving over my exposed face. Something was off about the door, though. My eyes located the ever-present bedside pitcher of water and locked on like nothing else mattered.

  So thirsty…

  The doctor tracked my eyes over, and thankfully poured out a cup of water. The bed shifted under me, so I was in more of a reclined position suitable for drinking. One straw later, and I was in heaven, the doctor holding the cup for me, as I was still quite well tucked into the bed.

  I sucked down the cup and croaked out, “More, please.”

  The second cup was gone as quickly as the first was. I was still thirsty, but it was at least a tolerable level of thirst at this point. Why did they have to make these cups so small?

  Putting the cup back where it came from, the doctor set about using a cotton swab to apply some moisturizer to my lips and around my nostrils.

  She spoke as she worked, saying, “Good afternoon, my name is Tessa. How are you feeling?”

  I swallowed around the tube running down my throat. My voice was raspy and sounded off to my ear. “Weak, and very tired,” I told her. I could have gone into much more detail, but my throat was sore and speaking wasn’t pleasant.

  She nodded, though, seemingly content with the response, and started doing all sorts of those little tests and checks that doctors do when you’re in the hospital. Poking, prodding, shining, and asking questions. Still, she started a conversation while she was working, and wove her questions related to her tests seamlessly throughout.

  “I apologize for having to do all these diagnostic tests. You have been recovering from a very serious state for some time now, so I need to establish a new baseline to figure out where you are in your recovery. I hope you understand.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I nodded slowly and spoke my mind as it came to me. “I don’t like hospitals. Will I be stuck here long?”

  She chuckled. “I’ll try not to take that personally. I wouldn’t want to feel like my company was that bad.”

  I shook my head to indicate that wasn’t what I meant, but her smile gave away the game, and she resumed her tests.

  “It’s hard for me to give you an accurate estimate on time, it’s really based on how your recovery is going. I would say probably a few more weeks at the least, unless you were to make a miraculous recovery or something of the sort.”

  I let out a little groan at the news.

  Weeks? Ugh.

  “If it’s any consolation, I expect it will go by pretty quickly. Some of the treatments you are being given are taking a lot out of your system, so you’ve been sleeping most of the time. In fact, you have been here like this for several weeks now as it is.”

  I glanced back at the pitcher of water.

  “You can have some more soon. We have to give your body a little time to adjust from the last drink you had.”

  A thought crossed my mind, and I looked back over to Tessa. “Treatments?”

  “Yes, you’re currently immunocompromised, so you’re being given treatments to build your system back up so that you won’t be at risk when you leave.”

  I glanced back at the door. Not a door, an airlock. Both airtight and probably locked.

  “I can’t leave?” The question was hard to ask. Not only physically, but also emotionally.

  “No, not currently. Even if we gave you drugs to boost your system, you’d wind up catching an infection and be right back, but in worse shape. You’ve been responding well to the treatments, though, so try not to worry.”

  Tessa finished what she was doing and came back around to the chair she had initially been sitting in. She smoothed her lab coat behind her and took a seat. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news in that regard. I’d like for you to be out of here as quickly as possible as well. You certainly have a lot of people who are looking forward to seeing you.”

  I frowned upon hearing that. “I do?”

  Tessa smiled and tapped the cover of her paperback book. “This has been at the top of the bestseller charts for months now, virtually uncontested. Regretfully, I just started reading it myself, but I can see why it’s popular.

  I tilted my head.

  She picked it up and showed me the cover, which read: My Sister, Monster Slayer. There was a graphic of a city perched around a bay on the ocean.

  “It’s really quite a good read. Melody is a very talented writer!”

  Tessa seemed to notice something in my facial expression. She placed the book back down and folded her hands on her lap. She looked like she was thinking for a moment before she asked me: “Do you know who you are?”

  What kind of stupid–

  I clenched my fist under the blanket, my brow already creased with frustration. “What kind of question is that? Of course I know who I am!” I had to cough after my voice rose, which did a good job of knocking the indignation off my face.

  Tessa helped dab at my eyes with a tissue after the coughing had died down. I sighed and thanked her.

  “I’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay with you. We can wait until another time, if you’d like.”

  Shaking my head, I took a deep breath to try to stabilize my turbulent emotions. “No, that’s okay. Go ahead,” I replied.

  “What season is it?”

  “Summer.”

  “I mentioned you’ve been in here for a bit, so I won’t ask you the date or anything like that. What year is it?”

  “Twenty-eleven.”

  “Can you remember the last thing we talked about before this?”

  “The book you’re reading.”

  “And before that?”

  “Being stuck here until I finish my treatments.”

  Tessa nodded along, and had picked up a clipboard from my bedside table, and was taking notes on it.

  “Do you know how you got here?”

  I glanced up at the drop ceiling and thought about it. I remembered a lot of things, but other things were sort of… foggy. I’d remember an image of a place or a person, but not the location or name. I tried to think back.

  “I…” I hesitated. “I went to school, was going to school.” My voice accurately conveyed my uncertainty with my answer.

  I could feel my memories, but trying to grasp at them or touch them caused them to part around my fingers like smoke. They were fleeting, ephemeral things, unable to be pinned down and read off. The more I pushed to try and grab at them, the more they evaded me.

  This was upsetting me quite a bit. It was frustrating, and I think my facial expression conveyed that to the outside world.

  With a huff, I conceded defeat–for the time being–and said, “I don’t remember how I got here, no.”

  Tessa leaned forward and held her hand out, hovering just over the imprint of my thigh under the blanket, and she made eye contact with me. I nodded to her, and she placed her hand on my thigh and squeezed it.

  “Some memory issues are expected, but you’re doing so well, I’m confident that you’ll get them back. It’s just a matter of time.”

  I looked away, a mix of shame and anger swirling in my chest and warming my neck and face. Only a touch bitterly, I asked: “So do I get to know why I’m here, or do I have to figure that out for myself?”

  She squeezed my thigh again, then I felt her hand leave my leg and the rustling of her sitting back in her chair. “Yes, I can tell you, it might be upsetting. Would you like to finish the test first?”

  Tension left my shoulders, and they slumped forward. “Sure, if that’s what you think is best.”

  “Do you remember your date of birth?”

  “April sixteenth, nineteen ninety-three.”

  “And your age?”

  “That makes me eighteen,” I answered, after having to think about it briefly.

  “Where were you born?”

  “Brockton Bay.”

  I’d glanced back at Tessa, and she was smiling at me.

  “Do you remember what kind of job you have?”

  That was another wishy-washy mass of smoke and mirrors. After mentally batting at it, I shook my head.

  “That’s okay!” She cleared her throat. “Can you tell me your full name?”

  There wasn’t anything there.

  How can I not know my own name when I know my date of birth!?

  I was frowning and pressing my lips together unconsciously while trying to remember. Some things were teasing at the edges of my memory, but I wasn’t certain of them.

  “I–” I took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. There’s what feels like several names that might be close, but I’m not sure about any of them.” I looked down at my lap. “How can I remember some things, but not others? How can I remember specific details, but then not even know… what my own name is?”

  I felt moisture trailing down my cheek.

  “It’s really not terribly uncommon among cases like these. If it’s bothering you, try and put it out of your mind for now. You likely need time, and effort isn’t likely going to yield anything but further upsetting you.”

  I bobbed my head. She asked me more questions, and I answered them to the best of my ability. How to brew a cup of tea. What are my favorite pizza and burger toppings? All sorts of things. Some I was able to recall trivially easily. Others were impossible for me to answer. I felt exhausted by the time we were done, not that it took too long to do, from my perspective.

  Tessa gave me another two cups of water, had a cup herself, and started to explain some things in very broad strokes, but she was attentive to my state and kept asking me questions about how I was feeling with every bit of information. She explained that it could be more harmful than it was helpful if she were to just dump out everything for me, and suggested that the best course of action was to go off what I felt.

  Did I feel curious and want to know more about myself? Was the information overwhelming, or did it not feel real to me?

  I pulled a deep lungful of air in through my nostrils and examined Tessa’s face. She looked sincere enough to me, compassionate, maybe a bit more invested than would be typical for a doctor, who tended to really push the ‘clinical distance’ thing.

  I made up my mind.

  “I’d like to know more… about myself. I’m going to take your advice and try and take things slowly, so please, just broad strokes for now.”

  She started telling me about a girl named Morgan. The name didn’t resonate with me in the slightest. I didn’t feel like I had any level of attachment to it at all. Almost right at the start, the topic of parahumans came up, and Morgan–and apparently I–was one. Morgan was something of a famous figure, and as she got into it, the stories seemed to just get progressively stranger and stranger.

  A woman at the very start of her adult life, but one who had made a big impact, both locally and more broadly in the world. Someone who founded a non-profit and charity at eighteen. A controversial figure, loved by many, but fiercely hated by a few. A slayer of true monsters, both in the literal and in the figurative sense, and someone who’d been memorialized locally.

  That had drawn out a deep sense of confusion from me, which was immediately addressed by Tessa.

  I–and Morgan–weren’t recovering from a medical condition in the traditional sense. Typically, medical professionals didn’t regard death as a medical condition so much as it was a fundamental change of state.

  She, I, we, had been revived, the first person ever brought back from death. That did explain the memory loss. I would imagine that it likely came with all kinds of other medical issues as well.

  It had taken time. A lot of time, by my estimation.

  Six years. It was June fifth, twenty-seventeen. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but the knowledge sat on my shoulders like a yoke laden with weights. It made me feel… A sense of loss, or maybe longing. Sad, without a doubt.

  A huge amount of things had changed: The people I’d known who now eluded my recollection, the city I’d lived in, and the world itself.

  Tessa picked up on the fact that I had withdrawn some into my jumbled thoughts and unexpected feelings. She suggested that perhaps it would be best to leave things there for the day.

  I absentmindedly nodded in agreement. I was exhausted, although I doubted I’d been awake for more than an hour or two.

  Tessa adjusted the bed for me and made sure I was as comfortable as possible for someone who was a virtual pincushion. I was given one of those clicker button things to get her if I woke up and she wasn’t around, or if I needed anything.

  She saw herself out and reduced the lighting to a lower level, something my eyes were extremely thankful for.

  I wanted to curl up on my side and cry, but that would involve trying to wrestle and maneuver around with a bunch of sensor cables, IV lines, and… other hoses and tubes.

  So I lay on my back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to sift through the demolition derby of thoughts, ideas, questions, and feelings in my head.

  At some point, sleep started to take me away. I hoped that the next time I woke up, things would be better. That I’d remember things, or snap out of my brain fog, or I’d wake up and everything had been a strange dream.

  I had no idea that the opposite would be true, and that my sleep would be somehow even more strange than waking reality had been today.