Retrograde Motion

Anemoia

I couldn't feel my limbs. Or anything, really, just an awful headache that made my brain feel like it was trying to escape out of my ears. If I had to guess why that was, I would probably tell you that I just took a nasty fall or something. Though, I knew I was dead wrong when my eyes started to open. Slowly, thankfully, as if not I'd have probably been blinded by the horrendously bright lights hanging just above my head bringing me back to my most pressing question.

'Where, exactly, am I?'

That question radiated through my mind as I turned my head away from the overhead lights towards the, equally blinding, white walls. They had the same sort of sterilized cleanliness of, say, an operation room. Maybe I was waking up from some sort of brain surgery or something because apart from baseline observations like how badly my head hurt, I could barely put a coherent thought together. I tried to think of where I was but I only came up blank. I tried to grasp at any thought or memory that wasn't the last minute or so. Again, nothing. Panic started to grip my throat as I tried to remember something, anything, even something as simple as my own name. My name is... My name... I...

Nothing.

I don't remember when I started to hyperventilate, something I can already see is becoming a common trend, only that after maybe a few seconds of crushing panic I tried to sit up. Possibly the worst mistake I've ever made in my life. Wires were tangled around me as I sat bolt upright, some disconnected from the machines I was hooked up to causing them to release the long, piercing, droning beep that you hear in all those medical dramas when someone's flatlined. And along with that came the start of my horrible new life.

As I was trying to figure out how to stop that awful sound from continuing a man walked through the door. He was tall and lanky, his lab coat hanging loosely off his body. He could only be described as pale. Pale blond hair, skin that looked like he hadn't seen the sun in years, and the piercing pale blue eyes that you swear are staring directly into your soul. I, of course, didn't notice that as he walked straight past me towards the machine that was still letting out that piercing screech and shut it off. I seemed to be frozen in place as he muttered something under his breath, running a hand through his short blond hair. He took a deep breath as he turned to me and I instantly felt... unnerved. It wasn't that he looked threatening, it's just- when you wake up in what looks to be an operating room with no prior memories of who you are or what you're doing here, you tend to become weary of mysterious doctors.

I still couldn't read the ID hanging around his neck as I finally realized my vision was a lot more blurry than I previously thought. I probably looked stupid just staring at him with confusion and, admittedly, some fear. He, however, just smiled. A gesture that didn't seem to reach his eyes as his smile turned into a self satisfied grin.

"How are you feeling? Any pain– headaches, maybe?" He asked, though without the sort of clinical disposition you'd expect from most doctors.

I continued to stare at him, probably looking just as confused as I felt. He seemed to notice this and chuckled, "Ah, right. I suppose we haven't properly met. I am Doctor Elijah Visser, head researcher at S.I.G.H.T.," he introduced himself, "I assume you must have a few questions?"

A few was an understatement, but I didn't say that out loud. "Wh... Where am I?" I managed to croak out, my throat dry and scratchy. Jesus, how long was I out for?

He laughed again, as if I'd just told a joke, "Where? I'm afraid I can't disclose that just yet." This guy was really starting to piss me off. Maybe I would've started yelling had I not been so disoriented. In this state I could probably get my ass handed to me by a toddler. My thoughts were interrupted when the guy, Dr. Visser, spoke up again, "But, I can tell you this is the hospital ward of the aforementioned institute, though, obviously I don't expect you to know what that is."

I took the little pause in the conversation to ask a question that had been created by this guy's excessive droning, "What do you mean you can't tell me yet?". Visser seemed amused by this question. "Well," He started, looking far too smug for comfort, "There are a few... conditions for your discharge Care to hear them?" I don't know why he asked me that question since there really was no other option for me, so I just nodded. He, again, seemed disproportionately delighted by my answer.

"As is custom for new recruits, you must agree– in writing– to serve S.I.G.H.T. institute in their mission to eliminate threats to the United States of America." That really threw me off as I, from what I could immediately tell, was completely inexperienced in anything to do with... whatever this was. That's when I said something that was, in hindsight, kind of stupid. "...And if I don't"

Visser's smile turned sour as a sneer marred his face, "And if you don't." he mused, gripping the long forgotten respirator that had fallen off, "I'm afraid we'll have to terminate you indefinitely. We can't have people like you roaming around, possibly running your little mouth to the public." He said this with a sort of indifference that made my blood run far colder than any malice would.

I stared at him incredulously for a moment, hoping in my dazed state I must've misheard him. I mumbled a bewildered "what?". He smiled again, this one somehow more patronizing than the last, "Oh, my apologies," Dr. Visser said, though I got the feeling he wasn't that sorry, "You must still be too startled to decipher such a concept. What I meant was: You'll be executed."

That seemed to sober me up as I came to my senses. Surely this guy was joking, right? You couldn't just execute a random guy? But I knew as I looked at the self-satisfied grin he wore so proudly— the sheer confidence that he said that with— there was no joke no matter how much I wanted to laugh it off. Either my life ended here or I would sign myself off to this... organization doing God knows what.

I still had half a mind to ask one more question before accepting whatever the hell this was supposed to be, "Who am I?"

I should've expected the laughter that came with my question. Honestly, I'm surprised Dr. Visser hadn't laughed at me the moment he first entered the room. He stopped laughing eventually. "Come again?" He asked, as if he was trying to annoy me on purpose, which I bet he was. " Who am I," I repeated, now finding myself starting to actively dislike the man. "I can't remember jack— hell, I don't even remember my own name!" I felt my blood starting to boil as I practically exploded on this man I had only met a few minutes prior. Still, Visser chuckled, looking down at me as if I was something to be pitied, "Right, I had almost forgotten. No wonder you're so shaken up." He mused as if the thought had just occurred to him.

"You, my friend, are nobody, and you will remain nobody for the rest of your life no matter how short." If even possible, my blood ran even hotter through my veins. Before I had a chance to respond, to ask him what the hell he was talking about, he spoke up again, "However, if you agree to my previous terms, you may become someone. Someone who deserves to live. Someone who won't die." He said that last part with an odd hint of pride but that wasn't what I was focused on at the moment.

Right, the "terms" of my release. To serve whatever freaky shadow government this guy worked for. To be honest, I'd rather not be a part of something this shady without, I don't know, a properly functional prefrontal cortex but I didn't really have a choice. It was either this or death and my self-preservation instincts proved stronger than my common sense. I stared at Visser for a moment and, despite the voice of reason in the back of my head telling me this was basically selling my soul,  spoke up, "...do you need it in writing?" I basically spat.

He didn't seem to care though as his smile widened, "That would be preferable, yes." He turned for a moment, taking a clipboard(which I somehow failed to notice) from the table behind me and handed it to me along with a pen. Before I took the pen from him I paused. What name was I supposed to sign? Visser seemed to have noticed my realization as he answered my question before I could even ask it. "Eleven. Or XI, as you will be formally called from now on." I almost scoffed, but signed anyway as the red ink from the ballpoint pen sealed my fate. A number? As if my situation couldn't get any worse. The man across from me seemed as jovial as ever though as he practically snatched the signed documents away from me. "Wonderful! Now, why don't you rest up? After all, you'll be starting tomorrow." As he said this he took a small syringe from his pocket and I got the feeling he wasn't exactly a suggestion.

I couldn't protest before the syringe made its way into the tube that was still hooked into my arm and I fell out of consciousness once again.