Log 1: I woke up in a hospital bed. My head hurt, I reached up to feel it and found that my head had been shaved. I ran my hand down from the top of my head and it crossed a line of stitches. I began to panic, and that’s when five or six men in white coats rushed in, restrained me, and then one of them injected me with what I am guessing was a tranquilizer. It was slow to affect me, but when it did, I went under very quickly.
I awoke again (this is pure guesswork, there were no windows, no clocks, and therefore no way to tell time) perhaps a few days later, feeling very famished. I felt my head again. The stitches were removed and a thin stubble covered my head. There was a definite thin scar across my forehead where the stitches had been, and it felt like there was a bump in my skull under the stitches. I decided to try my luck and call out for a glass of water. “Hello! Is anyone out there?”
A voice responded, “Stay there, just a moment.”
I complied, fearing that if I did not, bad things were sure to happen, specifically a return of the tranquilizer. I checked my surroundings. There were, as I have mentioned, no windows, and one door. I was strapped to a steel gurney with a thin mat between me and the cold steel. I had an IV attached to my arm. I couldn’t turn my head far enough to see what was in the bag it was feeding from. There was a TV in the corner of the room, but is looked as though it hadn’t been used in years.
“Alright, Mr. Smith. You called?”
“My name isn’t Mr.Smith…”
“Really? What is it?”
“Uh… Damn. I know it wasn’t Mr. Smith.”
“Well, what was it? I’m listening.”
It was like something was deliberately clouding my brain. “Uh… I… Call me… John?”
“Okay, your name is Mr. John Smith?” I realized that I was playing into his hands perfectly. But my mind was too fouled up to do anything about it. So I cooperated.
“May I have a glass of water?”
“Yes. Stay here, while I get it.”
The man left quickly. He was short, stout, and bespectacled. He had no hair on the top of his head, just on the sides of it, and he walked with a cane. It seemed as though he only used the cane because he liked it, not out of necessity. He returned a little under a minute later carrying the glass of water. He carefully unstrapped one of my hands and I grabbed the glass of water and began to drink furiously.
“I should take this time to tell you that the operation has been confirmed as a success. The memory loss you are currently experiencing should wear off in a few days, at which point we will give you the allotted sum promised by the contract you signed prior to the surgery.”
“… What operation? The one in my head?”
“Yes, that one precisely. It has been confirmed as a success by EEG scans of your brain waves, particularly the theta waves. Activity in those regions has increased by a thousandfold.”
“What does that mean?”
“The implications of the surgery will be explained to you in a few days, as part of the recovery and rehabilitation process.”
“… Oh. What’s in this IV?”
“Mr. Smith, I think it’s best you go back to sleep.” He said before, blindingly quickly I might add, he injected a heavy dose of the tranquilizer into my arm. The last sound I heard was the glass shattering on the floor next to the gurney.