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This was bad. This was beyond bad. It was incomprehensible really. First, he had woken up with a bunch of tubes and wires coming out of him. Then he had panicked and rather violently ripped several of those tubes out, which had hurt like a mother fudger – and don't get him started on the insanity that was his use of fake swears. Then there was this terrifying robot arm thing that wouldn't stop asking him what two plus two was. It wouldn't tell him where he was, wouldn't say how he got here, wouldn't even tell him his damn name. Oh, yeah, that too. On top of every other hellish aspect of this, he had no memories. Like none at all. So he was stranded here with no other people, a robot who seemed dead set on him learning kindergarten maths, and no clue how he got here or where here was or why it existed at all.
There was a ladder on the edge of the room, leading up to bunks that he could only pray had people in it. Maybe he wasn’t alone. Maybe there were other people here who knew what was happening. Based on all the tubes, he had to assume there was a nurse or a doctor or someone around. It couldn’t all be handled by the math loving robot arm, right? No, surely not. There had to be medical professionals of some kind and therefore there had to be other people. So he climbed, clinging desperately to the ladder as he did so, refusing to pause until he reached one of the bunks, where there lay a woman, her skin dry and void of expression. Her eyes were shut, but he didn't need to see them staring glassily forwards to know she was dead. He couldn’t imagine a more empty being. She looked like a husk, almost mummified somehow. She'd been dead for a long time, that much was clear.
He reeled back, clutching tightly at the ladder rungs and gasping for air. He was so doomed. How long had he been here? How long since somebody else had been here? If there was just a dead body and no one cleared it out... why? Why was he here, alone, in this weird room where the only door was at the top of a ladder. Was it a bunker? Why? What had happened to land him here? A zombie apocalypse? But then who had put all those tubes and wires in him? Was he a lab rat? Some sort of experiment? Had they all been, and now he was the only survivor, the only successful subject? Or was he just not as far along? Would he end up like this woman as well? Just a lifeless shell?
Shoving himself up the ladder and away from the body, he scrambled towards the next bunk, praying beyond hope that it wouldn't hold another body.
It did.
This one was worse, older. It was still mummified, but... the time it had been sitting there, somewhat preserved, was clearly far longer.
With yet another fake swear, he leaned back against the ladder. Okay. So he was all alone in here. All alone bar two dead bodies. First and foremost, he needed to work out where here was, then he could start analysing the rest.
Was this a lab? A bunker? An isolation chamber? Wait what if it was a quarantine. Was he sick? Did he have whatever killed those other two? Did they die first and then become those husks, or the other way around? How long would he be stuck here? Did anyone outside this room also have whatever contagion that caused this disease was?
Wait.
What if the three of them had been the only survivors. What if he was alone?
With a newfound surge of desperation, he pressed forwards and up, eyes locked on that door. Perhaps on the other side there would be answers.
He pressed against it. It didn't move. He pressed harder, still nothing. He tried twisting, turning, sliding, nothing, nothing, nothing.
"State name to be granted access further."
Well that shouldn't be hard. That... That...
He didn't know his name. He didn't even know the first letter.
He was trapped here. Alone, surrounded by bodies, with no memories and no clue how he had ended up here. Slowly, pathetically, he climbed back down the ladder, slumping into a heap at the bottom. He wanted to cry. So badly he wanted to cry. He shook a little, his breaths coming in haggard and broken. He pulled his knees to his chest and started to rock, moving on pure instinct.
His mind, ever so helpful, flashed a series of images in his mind, moments of his past where he had been curled up, sobbing and panicking just like this. Perhaps that should have brought him comfort – he had made it through all those times after all – but instead the dread, anxiety and overwhelming sense of everything falling apart took over him and he finally started bawling his eyes out. He didn't care if this was embarrassing or lame or overly emotional. He was so damn tired, he had barely done anything, but he was exhausted.
He let out a shuddering breath, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. This was where he drew the line. This was too much. Too insane.
A small part of him nagged that he should be doing something, but he ignored it. For all he knew all of humanity was dead and he was the only survivor of whatever plague had taken him. He couldn't exactly repopulate the earth on his own and honestly he had no desire to. Or perhaps he too had whatever disease had killed the others. Perhaps he wasn’t far off death and he just didn't know it yet. Or perhaps he was overthinking and turning something simple into a catastrophe. Without his memories, how was he supposed to know? It was impossible.
He groaned, opening his eyes to stare blankly up the ladder. He needed to work out his name. That was step one. After that, maybe he could get through that door and all the answers would be written down for him, or would reveal something or make it all make sense. He could hope.
Okay. His name. He could do that.