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Before he knew who he was he knew that he had blood on his hands. The inevitable “who am I” and “where am I” had yet to form but he was already sure that these were his hands and that this was probably not his blood. Then he knew that he was in a dark room and then, somehow, that he wasn’t alone.

He also knew that he was posed, probably awkwardly, on the floor of a clinical examination room. He had no recollection of ever before being in a clinical examination room but he innately recognized the reflective white tiles, examination table, hand sink and blade disposal as standard features of the venue, although there should probably have been less shattered glass and scattered instruments and splashed blood. The bewildered bear of an orderly standing over him with a generously endowed hypodermic in his hand didn’t look at all out of place.

The orderly was Leonard, if his name tag was to be believed, and the hypodermic in his hand was actually in his hand and coming out the other side just enough to look like it might hurt. But Leonard didn’t notice the needle or the man on the floor or much of anything, it seemed.

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