So, I just found this in my google docs. It hasn't been looked at since April of last year. I don't know where this was going or how my writing ended up being this lovely, but here it is. I might try to work on this. I can't guarantee anything though. The title is a joke. I named the document "I Wish I Knew" when I downloaded it to my computer from google docs and it seemed like a fitting title. I've probably taken some serious liberties, but hey. I hope you enjoy it and I'll do my best to keep it going.
He blinks rapidly, but the cloying darkness remains unchanged. He lifts a hand, slowly dragging it across his face. His body reacts slowly when he tries to sit up, like his mind is working faster than his body can manage. His head spins, and he can't tell if his eyes are open or shut. He blinks again, slowly, but his surroundings remain hidden in the darkness. He swallows hard, and his throat burns from the action. He settles for listening to the space around him. That too, he discovers, is disconcerting. There is a hushed quality to the atmosphere, and ambient sounds are foreboding in their absence.
He casts his mind around for information. He knows that the Federation Council convenes in San Francisco, which also serves as home to Starfleet. He knows Vulcan and Earth are close allies, and that, with the Andorian Empire and Tellar, they make up the founding planets of the Federation. He knows about the Romulan Star Empire and the Klingon Empire. He knows about Starfleet's mission. Disturbingly, he knows of the classes of Starfleet vessels. He knows how they run. He understands their engineering. He knows the best way to engage an enemy ship, how well the shields hold up against phaser fire, and the range of a photon torpedo.
Yet, he finds, he has no idea who he is. He knows he is male and of questionable health, but he cannot dredge up a single memory. No past, no hobbies, no friends or family or lovers. In the too still dark, he hears his heart start pounding in his ears. His breath scratches harshly through his throat. The space behind his eyes stings and his hands start to tremble. Panic oozes over him, slimy and thick. Frantically, he begins feeling around him. His hands fly over cloth - blankets, if he had to guess - but find nothing more. With short, jerky movements borne of fear, he pats at the ground beneath him until he finds an edge. With a start, he realizes he is sitting on a bed.
The sudden realization sends a jolt of discontent through him, and he swallows hard. Fear makes him weak and paralyzes his thoughts. He takes several deep, shaking lungfuls of air and forces the hysteria away. Focusing on his movements in the unlit room, he carefully slides his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet touch the ground and for the first time, he realizes that he is barefoot. His momentary loss of control has amplified the pounding in his head, but he doesn't feel the vertigo of before. He longs for a sip of water, but has no way of obtaining one. Carefully, he rises to his feet.
No amount of acclimatization will allow his eyes to take in his surroundings, so, with arms stretched down towards his knees, he shuffles forward. He makes only a few steps before one hand bumps into something solid. Carefully, he follows the length of the object until a table of some sort coalesces in his mind. Turning slightly, he brings both hands to the table top and pats at it lightly. He discovers very little. Some prism shaped object of decent weight, a thin, firm strip of some metal, and, to his surprise, an old fashioned, sturdy hard bound book. He turns from the table and continues in the path he had originally started in. He shuffles around the entire room, quickly realizing how small it is. He had felt the seam where the split of a door was, but could not make it open.
Disheartened, and rapidly succumbing to panic again, he settles on the edge of the bed. Frustrated, he tosses himself backwards in a sprawl. He startles slightly when one hand grazes a small, hard plastic item. Carefully, he grabs it and lifts it above his face. Dragging his hand across it, he suddenly recognizes it as a PADD. With an ease he couldn't explain, he flicks the device on. The sudden light it emits makes his eyes burn and water, but he merely squints through it. Using the device as a flashlight, he directs it around the room. He sees the desk near the foot of the bed, and the door he had failed to open. A panel beside the door has been removed, and the wiring hangs from it as though it has been eviscerated. Nothing besides the gutted wall seems out of place, and he turns the PADD back to view the screen. Blinking cheerily at him is a single video message, which he cautiously opens.
The guy on the screen is wearing a gold Starfleet uniform. His hair is blond and cropped short. His eyes, blue. The man licks his lips, gives a strained grin, and begins speaking. His voice is hushed, and his eyes jerk to the left every few seconds. His desperation is palpable.
"Hey, man. So, you're probably a bit confused, but that's okay. It's gotta be like this. I wish I could explain it to you but that would kind of defeat the purpose. I don't have the time to make this easy for you, so here's what you should know. You're on a Federation starship. Her engines have been killed, so life support won't last much longer. Luckily for you, you're the only one breathing on board. There are others, though. Try to stay hidden from them, and if all else fails, run and hide. Whatever you do, don't look at them. Find a hiding spot and close your eyes. This is the most important game of Hide and Seek you've ever played. You'll be okay, though. It'll all be okay."