Danger Kid

Prolouge

Huh.

I can't remember my dream. I suppose it was important, considering how my brain feels like a half-deflated balloon as the result of whatever emotions were triggered. I feel defeated, void of energy and full of a dull, aching pain that radiates with every heartbeat, tracing my veins.

Gradually, the emotions from the dream fade, and I'm left only aching and tired. I have the energy of a rag doll that's been run over by a tank. On top of all this, I have not the slightest clue about what it is going on.

Really, I don't even know who I am. It's a sort of stupor that could only be caused by drugs; my mental fogginess makes me think of visits to the dentist for oral surgery. I've forgotten everything, except for how to breathe, think, I hope pee, and all those kind of basics. (And apparently, how it feels to receive oral surgery...)

Having no memories, I am offered no exposition to my scenario. It's inconvenient and confusing, but also slightly intriguing. I feel as if I've been thrown blindly into the midst of a story. I decide to rely on my senses to fill me in.

I feel secure restriction on my wrists and ankles; I am bound with zip ties that bite with tightness. I feel cool metal pressing against my back and under me. Great, I'm bound to a chair. However, this isn't much to go on, though I'm beginning to think my situation is probably a bit sketchy.

I decide maybe opening my eyes will help me figure things out, and I do so. Or try. Despite having just awoken, I again realize how exhausted I feel. Simply opening my eye lids feels like trying to raise a reluctant garage door with my pinky. But, after thinking about it and psyching myself up a bit, I manage to peel them back. Slowly, the fuzziness that is my vision comes into focus. At first images are indiscernible, but eventually grey and black swirls collide into focused shapes and color. Images register.

I'm in a narrow room; the wall opposite of me is only a bit more than a body length or two away. I realize that the room extends left and right out of the sides of my vision, corridor like. Aligned against the other wall are three persons, tied down to metal chairs, like me. They are youths, two men, about twenty, and a girl of maybe nineteen. I force my heavy eyes to focus harder, and realize that above the individuals are suspended bags of brown fluid, like those you'd see in an IV setup. Tubes, like long venomous snakes, pump the liquid down from the bags and into needles that are inserted into their arms. They are all unconscious, or maybe worse.

Suddenly, the room shakes violently, and for half a second I feel myself rise into the air, floating, before clattering back down onto the ground. My head, which was facing straight forward, now flops to the side. This spares me the effort of rotating my head, or even moving my heavy eyes again. I'm now able to see what's to my left. It's a girl, slightly younger than the men. She has beautiful crimson hair that waterfalls down her shoulders in a gleaming current. Her eyes are open, naturally bright green and charming. I want those eyes to drag me in. I'm suddenly fascinated to see that despite the seductive charm they hold, they also portray a hint of danger.

I notice something else with unease. Despite their inherent beauty, they're also scared. This unsettles me and I'm suddenly desperate to help her even though I somehow know she is probably far more capable of helping herself than I am. The fear seems to be giving her energy which mobilizes her enough to dart her eyes around, though the rest of her body stays limp.

Looking at her, memories start to creep into my addled mind. Powerful emotions begin forcing amnesia out of my brain. My first revelation is that I love the girl.

Shoot. This complicates things. My mind has basically been birthed back into existence, and the first thing I realize is that I'm in love. It's not like a little crush either, but a strong wave of emotion that is nauseating, disturbing and overpowering. I find it telling that this is the first memory my brain would choose to reveal, rather than my name or who my parents are, or something like that. Priorities.