I tried to sit bolt upright and gasped a deep breath, filling my lungs with air as my arms and legs were met with resistance; I didn’t know where I was, but I was certainly alive. As I looked around, I saw there were people in white lab coats, almost like doctors, but… something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t place it at the time.

  I had an IV attached to my arm, however, it wasn’t clear liquid.

  “Wait, is… is that my BLOOD!?” My voice was panic-stricken, but I was slow to act and decided to gather my surroundings first. They were draining my blood, but I felt fine; not a bit queasy. There was a middle aged man sitting next to me dressed in black slacks, and a white long sleeve shirt with a funny fuzzy-looking vest, with large oversized buttons, over it. He wore glasses with round frames, and wore a gray hat of the sort that you see French painter wannabes wearing. He had white facial hair, with his mustache being short and almost stubbly while his beard was grown long and pointy. I could tell he had shaved his sideburns, but a thick gray stubble had since grown in the gaps.

  “Don't panic, it's just cleaning the drugs out of your bloodstream. Nothing to freak out about, child.” His voice sounded rich, like a warm cup of hot cocoa on a snowy, winter’s day, and deep enough he could certainly narrate animal documentaries.

  I decided it was in my best interest to calm down and slow my heart rate, as I didn't want to sound weak. “I'm not scared,” I said in a still shaky voice. “Who are you anyway?”

  “Martin.” He wasn't even looking in my direction, yet I felt he was trying to get a conversation out of me.

  “Where am I?” I began to take in my surroundings. No windows; strong smell of mildew, indicating moisture; and I found it slightly harder to breathe than usual. “Are we in a basement?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Okay, obviously it's a hospital. But, it's not the basement.” I leaned my head back against my pillow and closed my eyes, flexing my arms against the straps. “Is this some bunker?”

  “Bingo!” I quickly grew to trust Martin a little bit.

  “What, did North Korea actually figure out nukes?!”

  “Oh! No, not at all!”

  “So why am I in a bunker, then?” I strained my neck to look up and see his face. I wanted to try to read his facial expressions. He just smiled down at me with a grin so wide his eyes were nearly closed.

  “Because you have superpowers, of course! Eeh, eeh, eeh!” His laugh was a raunchy, near squeal that was certainly not pleasant to listen to.

  “Oh, real funny. Think you can explain exactly why I'm strapped to this bed?” I strained my arms against the straps. To no avail, they didn't budge.

  A look of confusion grew on Martin’s face. “You don't remember?”

  “Obviously I don't fucking remember! Shit, the last damn thing I remember is passing out IN MY ROOM, at home and this doesn't look anything like my room, or my HOME!”

  I began to feel frustrated- no- pissed. His short answers were getting annoying and his assumption I already knew what I did wrong reminded me of how the Police Chief treated me yesterday morning. At least I’m assuming that was yesterday; I hope it was. He was acting as if I were a crazed murderer, and the straps holding my arms and legs to the bed only reinforced that thought. My heart was pounding and I felt woozy, lightheaded, and sick to my stomach.

  “What's going on?” I could barely get the words out; it was exhausting even trying to keep my vision clear. My head fell back on the pillow as my vision turned black. Am I dead, and this is Hell? The last thing I heard was the heart monitor going haywire next to my bed.

  I was dreaming, but it didn't feel like MY dream. None of my surroundings seemed familiar, and I could recognize none of the faces. It was as if I was in someone else's mind. The dream started out in a living room with the TV playing a movie; Captain America.

  There was a man sitting on the couch watching the movie. I turned to take in my surroundings as a woman nearly ran into me. “Hey! Watch where you're going!” There was no response, but more peculiarly there was no sound from me. She seemed to not have noticed me being so close. I walked over to the man and waved my hand in his face- no response.

  That's crazy.

  I noticed the woman was whispering something in the man's ear, so I got closer to take in what she was saying.

  “Honey, the kids will be home soon. You promised not to watch it without them.” Her voice was soft and soothing, gentle and persuasive. “Hmph. Alright I'll restart it from the beginning.” Right after he had said this, the door began to open. Two boys had walked in. They could not have been more than ten years old, but something was strange about them. They were identical twins, one in a green shirt while the other wore blue. “Hey Mom, hey Dad.” They both spoke simultaneously. The dad looked toward them and asked, “Ready to watch the movie boys? I hope your last day of Third Grade didn’t spoil the mood!”

  The boys responded with excited giggles, which the parents took as a “yes” and the mother went off to what I assumed was the kitchen to make snacks for movie night.

  As the dad stood up, I noticed more of his facial features than before.

  That's Martin!

  As quickly as it had started, the scene was gone and I was being shaken from my dream.

  “Kenyan, stop! You are hurting them!”

  At the sound of Martin's voice, I knew something was wrong.

  I opened my eyes and noticed the straps, which had previously been restraining my arms and legs, were undone. I turned my head to witness something horrifying. The other doctors had the throats of their neighbors in their hands, arms outstretched and everyone's faces turning blue.

  I turned to Martin. “Why the hell do you think I'm doing this?”

  “Just listen to me. You have to calm down. Breath.”

  I tried to do as he said. I thought back to my innocent days, where I was young and carefree. I remembered being astounded at how I could fall asleep in the car in long rides, then magically appear the next morning in my bed; where when I did anything I knew to be wrong, I would cry and rat on myself out of fear of my punishment, which was only greeted with a warming laugh from my mother.

  I opened my eyes and sighed out of relief. Everyone had discontinued their horrific actions and replaced them with deep breaths and fearful glances in my direction. I was glad to see that everyone was stabilizing.

  I looked over to my heart monitor to see a still somewhat rapid heartbeat, so I began slowing my breathing. My attention shifted towards Martin, who was standing next to my bed. “So if I really did do that to everyone, then how were you perfectly fine?”

  He thought for a moment while the other physicians strapped me back to the bed. “We do not know exactly, but I think it has something to do with contact. See, I never touched you and I was not affected by your ability, however, the others did make contact while bringing you in.”

  His theory sounded believable, and it did make sense.

  But who removed the restraints? Is this Martin guy already lying to me, or did I somehow undo the straps myself?

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  My thoughts shifted back to before I blacked out. “So, you were about to explain just what these straps were for.” Again, I strained my arms and legs against the straps.

  “Oh, that's right.” He paused for a few seconds. “How do I put this. Well, when you were first brought here, you were sort of on a rampage, thrashing at and throwing anyone who touched you. This is where I first came up with the theory that you can control whoever makes skin contact with you. Whoever had touched you, was suddenly zombie-like and they surrounded you, protecting you from everyone else. It wasn't until someone was able to shoot you with a tranquilizer that everyone was back to normal and your rampage ceased.”

  “Hm,” was the only thing I was able to think of to say. “How long have I been here, anyway?” I was calmer, but still somewhat stressed from the earlier incident.

  “About a week.” Martin seemed tired, as I had as well. We continued to talk for another half-hour, mostly Martin did the talking, explaining the situation. The most shocking bit of information he told me was the fact that everyone I used to know thought I was dead. I was under protection from the government since I had obtained powers from my overdose. I was to stay in this bunker until my system was clear of the excess amount of drugs in my bloodstream.

  After our chat was over, Martin and the others left the room, which was quite large. I felt exhausted and laid my head on the pillow. I was actually comfortable, for the staff had removed the restraints, allowing more movement while in the bed. The staff seemed to listen to Martin like he was their manager, so I assumed he was a doctor and had decided I was no longer a danger. I had no way of telling what the time was, but I fell asleep almost immediately with soothing dreams.

  ■

  I sat up in the bed, yawning as I rose. As I stood to stretch, I noticed the IV had been disconnected from my arm. I felt much better, fresh, in a sense. The sleep was restful, and I noticed the door to my infirmary room was open.

  Searching the ward for Martin and not finding him, I discovered I wasn't the only “patient” here. One, however, stood out from the other two. A feeling of mystery surrounded him, as the staff studied him, baffled and curious. Entering the room, I began examining the surroundings. I remembered what Martin had told me about my ability.

  Controlling someone is basically controlling their mind? So if I can access one of the staff’s minds, then I should be able to see, hear, or read their mind. Martin had told me that I have to touch someone in order for my ability to work. I reached out and brushed my hand against the elbow of one staff member, and immediately felt the information flowing. Unable to decipher the information, I decided to take a seat and try to find patterns and reason to the information I had flowing through my cognition.

  The room was crowded, so nobody would notice I was present, just in case I wasn’t supposed to be here.

  The information- I guess I could say that- seemed like nothing but a jumbled mess. Deciphering this was much harder than expected, my head began to hurt.

  Giving up on the information transformation, I stood and walked out of the room. Checking the walls, I noticed directions to a food court posted on a map like what would be posted in a mall. Down to the end of the main hall, make a right for three doors, turn left down the stairs for one flight. My stomach had started grumbling and I had almost forgotten that I probably haven't eaten anything for a few days.

  I followed the directions and marveled at the absolute size of the food court as I walked through the entrance. I was surprised at how many people were here for this being a secretive base. The sheer amount of food options made me stop in my tracks, indecisive in what my appetite had craved.

  A distinct smell caught my attention- Popeyes.

  My stomach growled. “Popeyes it is, then,” I spoke to myself, striding to where the smell guided me.

  Walking to the counter, I was stunned to see the line going by so fast with only one cashier. Nobody spoke their order either; they simply stepped up, paid for their meal and sat down.

  With a line of thirty, I was in place twenty-four. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the cashier with him speaking something.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Your total is $9.76!”

  How had he known the price before I even ordered? “I- I don't have any money.” I was almost embarrassed. How was I supposed to buy a meal, if I was broke?

  “Not to worry, buddy. All you gotta do is put your thumb on the scanner.” He gestured to the device in front of the register. “You've got a private money account linked to your thumb print with a thousand dollars to start out with.”

  I must have looked confused because he responded with, “I’ll explain later.”

  Scanning my thumb, I started to walk away. I was shocked to see my food was already done.

  How the hell do they do this stuff?

  I was absolutely amazed with the fact that they knew exactly what I wanted, what I craved.

  I found a place to sit down, my stomach hurting from hunger, and devoured the meal in front of me. Five piece spicy chicken strips, large fries, and a route 44 vanilla Coke. I sat back in my chair, feeling like I had much more energy after the food.

  “Enjoy your meal, buddy?”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin, and gave a bit of a shriek, out of surprise. “Holy shit, man. Know how to warn someone before making ‘em piss themselves?” I looked up and recognized the face standing in front of me. “You're the cashier, aren’t you?”

  “Yep. Just went on break, maybe call it a day and go back to my nook.”

  “Nook?”

  “Basically an apartment. I'm Dalton, by the way. Dalton Branson.” He stuck his left hand out for a handshake.

  I took the hand and shook it. “I'm-”

  “Kenyan Mariner. Ken for short; ex-resident of Lindsay, Oklahoma; mother is Susie Mariner; senior in high school who loves to party; shot at two cops, your best friend got shot in a drug bust gone bad; got shot in the process yourself, and tried to fix yourself up at home, overdosing of your own supply of fentanyl, then woke up here, hungry.” He had an odd but proud look on his face.

  “How- how did you know all that?”

  He responded with, “Well, let me ask you something real quick. You woke up in the hospital wing not knowing where you were, with a strange ability, right?”

  “Yeah. But, you’re kinda freaking me out knowing what I’m thinking. Those pigs shot first by the way”

  “Well, that's how most of us wound up here, myself included. I've been here about a year and a half, finding out what my ability is, how to control it, and how to keep from overloading myself with it. My ability is the power to read minds, which is how your order was done so quickly and I knew exactly who you were.”

  “What do you mean ‘most’ of us. How did the rest of the people get here? What, do they work for the government?”

  “Ha!” He seemed a little happier. “The government doesn't even know about this place!”

  I thought Martin said I was under government protection?

  I guessed I had a lot to learn about this place, between the fact that the government has nothing to do with this. Oh, and not to mention the fact that I have an ability that I had no idea how to use or control.

  “Hey man, you should probably be heading to the council room.”

  Dalton seemed to have zoned out just before telling me this. After this, however, he snapped back into focus.

  “What for?”

  “So that you can get your living quarters assigned.” He gave me a look as if I were an idiot, then a surprised look as if he were remembering that I was new.

  “Got it, man. See ya later.” I figured I could find my way there just as I had done to discover the food court. “Wait.” I turned back around and held up my finger to my temple. “Almost forgot, what did you mean about most of you guys getting here through the med wing?”

  He looked almost like I’d thrown a punch in his gut and looked around as if expecting someone. “Long story, get your room first, then I’ll tell you.”

  The trek to the council room brought me past the room with the mystery patient. I hesitated in front of the doorway. I wanted so badly to go grab his arm and attempt to find out about him. I could help the doctors find out who he is, and I could learn more about how to control my new power.

  Later. I've got to get my living area right now.

  The room- more of an auditorium- was packed to the point where people were standing in the back. Here people were standing in the back, behind the seats. Nobody was on the stage yet. I could feel the tension of everyone waiting for someone to get up there and get this done and over with.

  The auditorium quickly grew silent. I turned towards the stage and saw someone- finally- grabbing the microphone.

  “Check. Check. One, two, three.”

  A big, burly man, as big as Viking Strongmen with a full beard and mustache of auburn color, stood on the stage. He looked confident as he stood in front of anywhere between 500 and 600 people.

  “Hello.”

  I think I've seen him before.

  “I'm Director Ward.”

  Ward. I swear I've heard that name somewhere.

  “I'm the head of this organization, whose sole purpose is to gather those with special abilities and teach them how to gain control over their powers.” He paused to scan the crowd. “I believe that each and every one of you were very confused when you woke up in the hospital wing. You did, however, quickly discover such abilities in a short range of waking after the anesthesia.”

  The crowd began to get a bit rowdy, so Ward quickly decided to change the subject.

  “Well, I'm sure most of you are ready to find where your living quarters will be; and not to worry, there will no longer be any shared dormitories.” The crowd gave a small cheer. “Well alright then, let's get straight to it.”.

  ________________________________________