The months of suspension had been fitful, only brief moments of clarity before his system had been flooded in response, carefully sedated through every moment and unsure when or where he was. The memories were hazy - white walls, muttered words in languages he didn’t understand, all felt like they had happened one after the other with the blink of his eyes, but there was no telling if they had been the same day, week... year. One moment he had been fighting a man who wore his face, felt the sharp, tearing strike of a blade into his arm, then the next he had felt himself carried in familiar arms. A brief moment of comfort in the fear that gripped him with every moment of consciousness.
The fear gripped him again as he startled into wakefulness, his breathing ragged and harsh as he was finally weaned from the cocktail of drugs that had kept him under. The beeping of a heart monitor sounded erratically at his side, and he grasped blindly at his chest to tear off the wires stuck there. He still felt groggy as he tried to take in his surroundings. Stark white walls, clinical - the same as before? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t risk it. If they didn’t realise he was awake,. He planted out his other hand to try and push himself up, but he grunted with confusion when he couldn’t feel the bed beneath him, trying to plant his forearm, then elbow into the mattress but his limb didn’t seem to want to move. How long had they had him, had he deteriorated so much he barely had the strength to lift himself?
