Richard was drifting underwater, devoid of any light and sound, an unnatural warmth blanketing his whole being. For the first time in a long while, Richard was content. No expectations from his family, no friends or girlfriends trying to manipulate him for their petty gains. And, most importantly, no ever-present cravings for substances whose official names he couldn't even pronounce.

  Richard let the flow of time wash over him, letting it take everything away; there was no past or future, only sweet nothingness.

  As with everything good, this too had to end, and so the tide of darkness slowly began to recede.

  As its hold waned, a ripple passed through Richard's consciousness—a memory long forgotten. Startled, his addled mind tried to ignore it, to let it drift away and embrace nothingness again. But then, as if lightning had struck twice, the impossible happened: another memory surged through him. Before he could let it go, another struck, and then another, and another.

  Richard awoke with a startled gasp, quickly replaced by frantic, disoriented jostling. Like a man at the bottom of the sea suddenly realizing he had no breath left, he fought with everything he had, flailing his arms in every direction, desperately hoping for the best. And to his surprise, it worked—he wasn't drowning anymore.

  Disoriented, Richard tried to look around and found himself in a strangely familiar situation. His vision was blurry, the sounds muffled as if coming from the next room, and there was a horrible stench worse than a dumpster baking in the summer sun.

  "Damn, did I take one of the experimental pills again? My head is killing me."

  Yet beneath the pain and confusion, there was a strange, all-encompassing joy.

  "At least the pills are working," Richard thought, trying to make sense of what was happening.

  His musings were rudely interrupted as someone grabbed him and began forcibly stretching his limbs. Shocked by the audacity, Richard tried to protest, but neither his hands nor his vocal cords would cooperate, producing only feeble thrashing and pitiful gargled noises. This seemed to satisfy the unknown assailant, who, after shaking him a little more, set him down on some coarse material.

  Still dazed and uncertain of his situation, Richard felt fear take over, urging him to stay as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. After some time, someone placed something hot, sticky, and wriggling beside him. To make matters worse, it was crying as if something were taking a bite out of it.

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  This went on for what felt like hours, and with each new addition, the noise grew more unbearable. The absurdity of the situation slowly began to outweigh the fear, allowing Richard to think again. Determined to do at least something, he tried covering his ears with his hands, but to his disappointment, they were as useless as before. Even when blackout drunk, Richard didn't remember ever having such poor coordination.

  Unable to block out the annoying noises, Richard decided to do the next best thing: figure out what was happening. He knew he was practically blind and had almost no control over his body. The last thing he remembered was that stupid robber trying to take what was his.

  Adding two and two, Richard theorized that he was in some kind of hospital with severe injuries. The theory fit his condition, but it was hard to reconcile with the rough handling from before. He was Richard Newton—his parents would have spared no expense and would never have allowed such harsh treatment.

  One possibility was that a lot of time had passed, allowing the hospital staff to grow brazen—maybe no one even expected him to wake up.

  "But no, this isn't right," Richard thought. "I'm sure I cried out when that giant assailant wrung me out like a wet cloth. If they thought I was in a coma, surely my cry would've gotten some kind of surprised response."

  "Well," Richard continued, "I'm not in a hospital, and I don't have any other theories. I might be dreaming, but that doesn't help—better to assume I'm not."

  "I also know I'm small compared to the hateful assailant, and the crying things near me are probably similar to me. Nothing makes sense."

  With worry gnawing at him, Richard thought, "At least the noise has died down. That was worse than the time five whole buses of kids invaded one of my mall outings when I was younger."

  And then realization hit him:

  "Unless all of them are children—or more specifically, newborns. But that would mean I'm a newborn too."

  "That's ridiculous," Richard thought. "I need more information about my status."

  As he wrestled with that final thought, a gray-hued translucent screen appeared in front of his face.

  #########################

  General:

  Name: None

  Path: None

  Patron: None

  Stats:

  Body: 1

  Mind: 12

  Spirit: 6

  Exp: 0

  #########################

  As Richard looked at the screen, he felt his situation had gone from bad to catastrophic. Not only did he not understand what was happening, but he also had no idea how the world worked anymore. Maybe he had been too hasty in dismissing it all as a dream.

  Distraught by the situation, Richard began thrashing about without conscious control. Sensing his distress, someone lifted him from the straw-like material and started gently rocking him. This person was clearly different from the first—gentler, more considerate. Surprisingly, after only a short while, his body betrayed him again—his eyes grew heavy, his mind began to slip, and the familiar, yet subtly different darkness called to him once more.