The first thing I notice is the cold. Not a quivering, bone-chilling cold, but a metallic cold that just seeps into my veins like venom and pulsates with every heartbeat. I feel cold. I am cold.
I see light shine from out of the liquid filled prison. I try to scream and kick but my voice is nothing more than a stream of bubbles and my rage cannot tarnish the glass tube. My prison. I close my eyes and begin to fade into sleep.
I wearily open my eyes and notice the lights are gone, replaced with several strange figures in white lab coats and suited with gasmasks, taking notes. The figures, seemingly masculine, are astonished to see me awake. One of the strange men, whom I have dubbed "Whitecoats" puts down his clipboard and pen upon a white table and kneels before the tube. My prison. The Whitecoat presses a series of buttons and I wait silently, staring at the observers, for around a minute until I hear a sharp hiss sound from the metal bottom of the tank. A gurgling sound follows the short hiss and I notice the liquid surrounding me losing cold. Warmth. Warmth. Warmth, a sensation that is strangely unique to me, yet I understand the concept. The icy venom inhabiting my veins subsides and the liquid in the tank begins to drain through small holes in the base that had previously gone unnoticed.
Before long, the liquid is down to my knees and air, another unique yet familiar concept, occupies the tube. My prison.
The air stings against my naked body initially, but I soon become accustomed to its alien freshness. Soon enough, the liquid has all drained and I hear a loud click and a wush. The cylinder glass barrier of my prison begins to slide into the base of the tank, inviting an invasion of air and exposing my naked body to the four observing Whitecoats and the vast, foreign room.
I attempt to take a step in this new world of shining lights and Whitecoats as they watch me, always jotting down notes. The room is a vast expanse of white tiles and tables. Strange machines, books, and papers are sprawled over the many tables, along with a few clusters of petri dishes. I even spot a few liquid-filled tubes like mine. My prison. My cold, venemous prison. I'm free.
The individual Whitecoat who unlocked my prison rushes to me, but he is too late. Everything is too much to absorb. Before I take my first steep against the clean, white tiles of the laboratory, the world becomes a shadow, and the void of unconsciousness swallows me. I'm free.
This time, I do not wake to the cold confinement of my prison, but to the warmth of a small room I assume is a part of the laboratory. Everything is white; the tiles are white, the walls are white, and I look forward to see a Whitecoat staring at me wearing one of those ridiculous gas masks. I am no longer naked; now, I am dressed in a warm, white jumpsuit. Warm. I like warmth.
The Whitecoat stares at me, and I notice I am strapped into a small, white chair. He notices my awakening, scribbles down a few notes, and finally I hear a word from him.
"Hello, Jason." Jason. The name rings in my ears, my body, my soul. I am Jason. The name is a key to a mental door, wherein knowledge hides behind and suddenly I am enlightened, endowed with my identity like I was with the revelation of heat. I am Jason.
I try to respond to the Whitecoat, but only silence comes out. I am back in the prison and all I can speak is silence.
"Don't worry, I don't expect you to speak as of yet. My job is to tell you why you're here."
The Whitecoat turns a page on his clipboard and begins to speak again in his monotonous voice. "I understand the sudden, rapid bursts of stimuli have been rather... unsettling, but bear with me."
I nod as I think back to my personal discoveries. He spoke on. "You have been in that tank for six thousand and thirty three days... sixteen years, six months, and six days. You have been raised in this laboratory since the day you were born."
