Human Enough For Me

One

I jolt awake and find myself in a blank white room — no doors, no windows. The floor and walls look smooth like concrete, but it's as white as fresh snow. There's a vague outline of a rectangle on the wall to my left which reaches to the floor that might be some sort of exit, but there seems to be no way to open it from inside. There are a few similar outlines along the walls, which suggest the placement of windows that are all sealed like this door is.

What's going on? What is this place? I try to remember something, anything to give me an idea of where I am or what's going on. The fog of unconsciousness drifts from my mind easily enough, but the memories I find don't even feel like mine. I can remember things in stark detail — every mundane detail that made up most of my life, my dad dying when I was fifteen, exactly where I was when I heard we were at war, everything up until being in a jail cell somewhere I don't know the name of — but it's like I'm a passive observer looking on from inside someone else's head. What the hell? I look down at myself to make sure nothing is wrong with my body, and there's no visible damage. So it's just my head that's fucked. Great.

I reach into my memories to see if there's any explanation for what's happening to me. Or... is it really my memory? Am I really a twenty-three old named Matt like my memory suggests, or is that someone else entirely? How would that even work, taking someone else's memories? I sit up to look at my immediate surroundings a little better, try to process exactly what's happening.

I'm on a hospital bed, more like the ones they have in the ER than the nicer ones they have in actual hospital rooms — a safety rail is pulled up on one side, and my head is slightly elevated. The sheets are white, and from what I can tell the frame is some sort of plastic imitation metal. I'm wearing a light blue hospital gown, which sits loose on my shoulders and is splayed around me wildly. The blanket has a pleasantly rough texture, but the way the hospital gown is positioned around my joints is irritating.

I start to pull on the fabric of the gown around my left shoulder, when my vision is suddenly obstructed by a pop-up window. It's a clean light blue box with plain black text on it that reads "Subject 72 Online. All Systems Nominal."

I scream and jump back, falling off the bed and onto the floor. I would normally wince in pain from the impact, or yelp in shock from my bare ass hitting the cold ground, but the only thing in my mind now is the chest-tightening panic filling my mind. I blink a couple times and look side to side, but the window stays centered in my vision. What is this? What's happening to me? Why do I feel like some hollow vessel for someone else? Who even am I? My thoughts start to spiral — that seems familiar, at least — and I stick my head in between my legs and try my best to not hyperventilate. Attempt unsuccessful. I start breathing faster, lungs and diaphragm starting to ache, and suddenly the window flashes a new set of text — "WARNING — HEART RATE ELEVATED." I jump again, and I can feel tears pricking at my eyes.

At that moment a panel opens in the wall, exactly where I thought the door might be, and a woman steps into the room. I start to study the features of her face when another pop-up window appears next to her head with a detailed profile. [Name: Rachel Whitman; Age: 31; Height: 5'3"; Hair Color: Brown; Eye Color: Green] I stop reading the window. Even what I've read feels like too much personal information, knowing her name and age without ever speaking to her, and there are paragraphs more of information on this panel that probably gets a lot more personal. I avoid looking at her face, instead turning my gaze to the floor by my feet.

The woman — Rachel, according to the window — walks over and squats down to look at me face-to-face. I look back up to meet her gaze — her skin has a gentle tan to it, her hair is pulled back into a short ponytail with an undercut, run through with purple highlights. She's wearing a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, black dress pants, square glasses with rose gold frames, and platform boots that come up [3 inches] off the ground. She reaches her hand out to me, and I stare at it for what feels like an eternity. She sighs, drops her hand, and says "you seem confused." I nod slowly at her. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"