John wasn't sure how he ended up where he was. He literally could not recall anything before his accident beyond what Admiral Marcus told him. He found that his devotion to engineering and loyalty to Star Fleet was true. He barely left the lab he had been given - sometimes he even slept there. Curled up around wrenches and engine parts. There was always something to upgrade, modify and invent. It was fascinating. It kept his mind busy with propulsion and phasing rather than the mystery of who that man in the mirror was.

Ever since he woke up he didn't feel comfortable in his own skin. There was something about the paleness of his hands, how skinny he looked in his mirror - the texture of his hair felt weird on his finger tips. His doctor assured him it was all normal for someone in his condition to wake up from head trauma and feel like a different person. The disconnect from ones self - the insecurity. Admiral Marcus must've seen that he was struggling even though he tried to hide it. He recommended John leave the station for a few hours, go to the nearest bar and get a 'real' drink. John didn't even know what he liked - it nearly gave him a panic attack just trying to decide where to go. In the end Marcus took him out with a few other officers. They devoted their night to showing him a good time which is what eventually led them to a place called 'Foxtrot'.

Upon hearing the name John assumed it was a hunting-themed lounge of some sort where soldiers went to recount war stories. Marcus informed him that it was a strip club just moments before they passed through the threshold. The music alone was overwhelming - too much bass that made it feel like his brain was thudding around in his scull. There were no windows, just dark walls and neon lights flashing over the scores of half dressed women and men. Some were running around in their underwear serving drinks and grinding themselves on the patrons.

John was no stranger to sex, that wasn't the jarring part. What he barely remembered about strip clubs - or what he looked up so he could recall - was that they were smoke filled dens with a few stages where girls would dance around as men put bank notes in their thongs. The 'dancers' at Foxtrot were all walks of life. He even saw an android modified to fit in with the other humanoids. There were several alien species - mostly watched by their own kind. Everyone seemed to have some sort of glow in the dark, neon bright makeup on their faces. John thought it looked like war paint. Their scarce clothing also seemed to light up as they took it off. The noise and glare was almost too much for John to handle and he was a second away from bolting when Marcus put his hand on his shoulder.

"Relax." Marcus yelled over the music. "I'll find you something more your speed." He then guided John to a quieter section in the back and sat him down in a small room. Along the way he got all kinds of looks from performers - one particularly large black man wearing nothing but a flimsy loin cloth to cover his massive privates winked at John and blew him a kiss. John felt his face go hot - what was happening to him? He started the day working on a warp drive - how did he end up here? "Sit - I'll send in someone to keep you company." Marcus said before he went out the thick privacy curtain. John was thankful for the solitude but he couldn't help but peek out the gap in the fabric to see what Marcus was doing. He was talking to a woman. She listened to him, nodding and glancing back to where John was. She said something back to him before he gave her a thumbs up. She walked off and Marcus stayed there until another woman happened by. His wispy eyebrows going up when she flipped her short blonde bob and sashayed past him. He followed her almost immediately.

John sat back for a moment to collect himself. What had he been talked into? None of this felt right. He had an overwhelming desire to go back to his lab and shut himself in. Put baser instincts out of mind and work on shielding that used the opponents own blaster beams to power itself. If he could just figure out how to make it absorb the energy and filter it back out— he tried not to jump when someone pulled the curtain back. He stared at the woman for a long moment.

"Are you John?" She asked and offered him a warm smile. She came in and let the curtain fall closed before she got an answer. In fact John gave her no reply or interaction except for his eye contact. "Didn't mean to startle you. Your friend let me know you have a touch of PTSD."

"My friend?" John asked. For a moment he saw a man with long, light brown hair. "Malik?"

"Marcus." She corrected him and he shook his head. "The honorable Admiral. So nice of him to 'take care' of you so generously."

"Oh him." John said as he focused on the tray in her hand. "What's that?"

"Scotch - neat. Non synthetic, top shelf." She said a bunch of words that barely had meaning to him. She must've seen how confused he looked. "It's a drink." She set the tray down and handed it to him. John looked at the brown liquid - from the smell he knew it was a very strong alcohol based drink. He gave it a careful sniff and crinkled his nose. He tried to recall if his doctor had cleared him to drink. His mind was already a jumbled mess he doubted this would help. He was distracted from his thoughts when the woman unsnapped a part of her dress and let the garment fall to the floor. He thought her sudden display was odd to say the least.

"What are you doing?" He asked. His mind immediately thinking she was taking off her dress so she wouldn't get blood on it when she killed him. John forced himself out of that sudden dark thought and looked the woman up and down. "What—?"

"Shhh…" She hushed him and had him lift the glass to his mouth. "Drink that. It'll help you relax." He kept his eye on her as he gulped it down. It was smoother than he thought it would be but it still burned his throat. "Okay, that's 180 proof - hope you can hold it." He gestured with the glass.

"I am holding it." He shrugged. She chuckled and it made his eye brows go up. It was such a quiet little laugh that he was surprised he heard it over the muted thump of the music out in the main area.

"That's funny. Not all my customers are as cute as you." She purred. "Ready for your lap dance?"

"What's a lap dance?" John went rigid. It didn't sound lethal but he was still on edge.

"You're kidding right?" She asked. One look at his face let her know that he was not. In fact she doubted he ever kidded around. "Never mind, sit back. I'll show you." She reached over and pushed a button on the small key pad on the wall. The room was suddenly filled with slower music. He tried not to strike out at her when she lifted her foot and put it on the seat beside him. "Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you honey." He heard her but his eyes were on the shiny spiked heel of her pumps - it could easily be used as a weapon. She cupped his chin gently and made him look up at her. "What's your name?" It felt weird when she playfully flicked his nose. He almost scoffed at the invasion of his personal space.

"John." He finally answered her after a long beat. He made a face like it didn't sound right to him.

"You sure?" She asked as she stretched her arms high above her head. A piercing in her navel caught his eye. A shiny red jewel with several smaller gems hanging from it made to look like rubies were embedded on her skin.

"Yes." He answered.

"I'm Eros." She introduced her self.

"The ancient God of love?" He asked as he glanced up at her face. She smiled - satisfied that she had peaked his curiosity and got him talking.

"It's fitting no?" She asked as she ran her hands over her breasts. He noticed her brassiere was mostly see-through except for heart shaped fabric that concealed her nipples. She gave them a squeeze before letting one hand slide slowly down her abdomen. He watched intrigued as she snuck her fingers into the waist band of her panties and rubbed herself. John felt like his face was burning again. Especially when she moaned about it. His gaze shot up to her face and she was smirking at him. "What's the matter handsome? Been a long time since 'shore leave'?" As Eros spoke she brought her leg down and turned around. She bent over and grabbed her ankles - putting her ass right in his face. If he hadn't leaned back they would've collided. There was only a thin strip of fabric keeping him from seeing everything. "It's cold out in space hm? Taking you a minute to warm up to me?"

John fidgeted when he felt her hands running up his boots. When Eros reached his knees she gave his cap a slight squeeze and he twisted at the odd tickle that surged through him. How had he not known about such a spot on his own body? She gently pushed his legs open and slid back until she was in his lap. "Let's see if it's working." John gripped the edge of the seat as Eros started to grind her ass back and forth against him. Heat ignited in his core so quickly it made him cringe. He felt out of control - his body betraying his mental demands to not react - to not surrender to how good it felt to experience this odd pantomime of sex. "Whoa - I'd say you're all warmed up."

Eros flung her hair back and hit him in the face with it making him flinch. It wasn't real - her hair was synthetic and he didn't like the way it felt. Fake - like how he felt in his own skin. It was off putting. It didn't smell like the rest of her. "Mmph." He grit his teeth when she leaned back against him - trapping him between the vinyl seat and her suffocating wig. The rub of it against his cheek compared to the soft, warm feel of her palm on his other cheek was jarring.

"You Star Fleet boys are all so 'gifted'." She whispered right in his ear. She took the hint when he leaned away from her. Some guys didn't like intimate touching like that. She just leaned over and put her hands on his thighs. The muscles went taut under her fingers and she purred as she worked her hips in a circular motion. "Damn, where do you hide that monster in this tight uniform?" She giggled.

Eros couldn't see his face so she couldn't see how conflicted and pained John was. This was too much for his fractured mind. To much tactile sensation radiating from a part of his body he had been ignoring. Something in him told him his training had neglected this facet of life. This wasn't for him. And when he began questioning that memory he started to get a headache and more flashes of a life that he wasn't sure was his. He tensed and the glass in his hand shattered as he crushed it into shards. Eros shrieked at the sudden noise and hopped up. She backed away from John. His once quizzical features were now contorted in a menacing glare. His hand bleeding profusely from the jagged glass embedded in it. The pain sparked something in him - more memories of brutal training - of being weak and crippled and afraid. He stood up and Eros screamed.

"Ray!" John looked at the large man that came storming into the room. He grabbed him but before he could haul John out he twisted his meaty arm until it snapped with a sickening crack. The club was suddenly in full panic and John never felt more calm. He evaded the other bouncers and found his way through the frantic crowd of people trying to flee what danger had set off the alarms. Once he was outside he felt someone grab him and nearly took Admiral Marcus' head off as he whirled around. Luckily realization made him stop just short of impact.

"Damn, can't take you anywhere." Marcus joked before he hustled John off to their transport.

Eros took off her wig once she was backstage in the dressing rooms. She had just finished a pretty good set and decided it was time for a break when the tips slowed down. The crowd was calm tonight even though she could barely see them through the lights and the holo-messages that popped up every time someone tipped her. They appeared as little blue squares around her along with her glowing music effects - trailing behind her to make her moves that much more impressive. The atmosphere was nice and relaxed considering what happened the other night.

"Hey, Eros! You're up. Private dance, room seven." She looked back at her boss for a second and she gestured for her to hurry. She put her wig back on and draped a sheer shawl over her shoulders before she went to pick up the drink order from the bar. A martini with three olives.

"Here, you might need this." The bartender said as he offered her a light green, opaque rectangular strip. It was Kite - a fairly potent mood drug that dissolved on the tongue.

"Thanks Mike. Creepy client?" She asked as she accepted it.

"Something about the guy screams 'sock-collecting-basement-dweller'." He answered. "You be careful."

"Lovely." She put the tab on her tongue and waited for it start dissolving before she took up the small tray and started towards the private rooms. In her head she was already dreading what was behind the curtain. Mike was pretty good at knowing which type of customers she didn't like. Which was most of them. It wasn't that she hated the job. Being up on stage was great - there was no contact. But the private dances - where she had to rub and grind against some slob and pretend she liked the feel of their boners and didn't mind their smell. The drugs helped a lot. Sometimes she was so stoned she barely even saw their faces. Her account reflected what they thought of her. The pay was worth it to not have to be broke on the street or crawling to the Star Fleet for a job. She'd rather hump the fattest man alive completely sober than to go off on some god forsaken space ship and die.

Eros felt so light as she neared the room. Warm and at peace as the drug convinced her brain to release more dopamine. She imagined she could lift right off the ground and float away if she just gave herself a little push off. The colors of her clothes were suddenly so brilliant. Everything shined and she felt the bass of the music in her core. She felt like touching herself but she held off - she'd get to in a little while when she started dancing. She pulled back the curtain and instantly recognized the man. "You gotta be shitting me." She growled. She'd know his angular features anywhere - even half high.

"Eros." He said - his tone and posture inviting. Or as inviting as someone like him would get. He was still sitting completely upright - rigid posture that had been drilled into him at the academy no doubt.

"John." She said flatly. He looked pleasantly surprised.

"You remembered?"

"Hard to forget a guy who gets a 'rage boner' and snaps a body-builder's arm like a twig."

"I apologize for that." He said quickly. "I was not myself that day."

"Are you yourself today?" Eros asked. She knew the question sounded ridiculous but he just shrugged.

"More than I have been in a while." John's answer seemed to appease Eros. Or maybe the drugs were starting to really kick. She clicked her teeth together - it was the drugs, she couldn't feel the enamel scrapping together. She let the curtain fall closed and handed him the martini.

"Who are you? Really?" She asked. Her tone sliding to seductive. Men loved to be heard - for someone to listen to their bullshit and pretend to care. It was half her job to listen to them whine about how they were bottle fed or never got the promotion at work they thought they deserved.

"Just a Star Fleet Engineer." He shrugged. "For now." He took a sip of his drink. Eros almost couldn't believe this was the same man from the other day. It was like his freak out had triggered some kind of personality shift. She could still feel him tense when she started dancing for him. She was barely in his lap for thirty seconds before he abruptly told her to stop. He even went so far as to push her up when she didn't stop right away.

"What's wrong?" She asked. No one had ever done that before. There were a few guys that got more satisfaction from denying gratification. And others that didn't want to mess up the inside the of their pants. They'd thank her and then scuttle off to the restroom to finish. But John just sat there for a few long seconds - breathing in and out evenly until he regained his composure. When he opened his eyes she was nearly to the curtain - so prepared to run should he get violent again.

"I'm alright." He assured her and gestured for her to come closer. "Can you dance without touching me? Like you do on the platform out there."

"Sure." Eros pressed a button on the wall key pad and a pole came down from the ceiling. John heard it lock in place before she took hold and spun herself around it. "You must've been in some accident." She said. He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Isn't that what caused your PTSD? An accident? Some people call it 'shell shock'."

"I guess. I can't really remember." He answered. "I've been told that everything I'm experiencing is normal for what happened to me. That some R and R might help me."

"Whose idea was it to come to a titty bar to relax?" Eros asked bemused. It took John a moment to answer as he was busy watching her slide down the poll upside down with her legs spread wide into a split.

"Not mine." He said. "They think—"

"They?"

"My doctors and commanding officers." He clarified. "… Think that engaging in the furthest thing from my duties will help me… come to grips with my memory loss. Sort of like not stressing a pulled muscle. If I relax my mind will have time to heal and I will be able to remember."

"You don't sound like you believe that." She commented as she pulled the strings that were keeping her top on. John followed the motion as she spun it in a circle before it was flung off her breasts.

"I've looked up everything they say happened to me and the symptoms don't match." John said and took a big sip of his drink. He noticed Eros' attention as he took up the tooth pick and pulled one of the olives off with his teeth. She bit her bottom lip as he chomped down on the little green snack. "The closest I come to describing it is some sort of out-of-body experience." He studied his hand on the slender stem of the glass. "Not remembering the events the led to my injury is one thing - the brain naturally blocks out memories that are too painful to recall as a sort self preserving mechanism. But amnesia to the point where I don't remember what I'm supposed to look like…where nearly everything that rubs against my skin feels artificial. How do I remember all of my education? Everything that makes me useful to Star Fleet but I can't remember my parents. My favorite food. My first kiss. Anything that would bring me pleasure."

"Sounds like you've been brainwashed." Eros chuckled. He looked at her sharply. She was clearly feeling the full effects of the drugs she took - she barely noticed his darkening mood as she slowly bent over and shook her ass in his face. John took her slurred words to heart. Despite her intoxication she had said what made sense. His thoughts and memories may have been forcibly removed. "Or maybe you were just really boring before your accident. A lot of people who join Star Fleet got nothing else going for 'em. That place is kept running by scorned orphans." John chuckled at her acute observation. She was right about that - most of the people he talked to had little to no family, mainly because their parents had been officers and they died while on duty. "Is brainwashing a thing? Or did I get that from a flick?"

"It's possible."

"Oh good." She sighed.

John's aversion to tactile contact made him research possible causes. His records showed he wasn't sexually assaulted, he wasn't half Vulcan, his genitals had never been horribly damaged. He wasn't sure what sparked it but he looked up symptoms of long term suspended-animation-sleep. Nearly every account of a person sleeping for more than a year reported some sort of issue with intimacy. It didn't bring them pain they just felt very uncomfortable.

John then researched the exact components of what made suspended sleep possible. Temperature controls near freezing to preserve the organs. A steady injection of Cyclobenzaprine, Nutrient Cocktail, small doses of Succinylcholine Chloride based on brain waves and Androgen deprivation therapy. His next search was about the drugs on the list. The first was just a muscle relaxant - pretty much to ensure you didn't twitch in your sleep and end up breaking a bone on the hard side of the sleep capsule. The next was a paralytic. It pretty much ensured the same thing. The last one was basically chemical castration.

John leaned back in his chair for a moment before he inquired why people in suspended sleep were given anti-androgens. All of the files explained that it was to keep 'sleepers' from having sexual dreams. Apparently it was physically impossible to sleep through an orgasm. And 'wet dreams' were very common at any age after adolescence. In order for suspended sleep to work at all the subject would need to be given this drug to keep from getting aroused. There were also logs of how long it took these 'sleepers' to get back their drive and how long they struggled with a feeling of disassociation with their own bodies. John then went back to his medical records to see how long it said he was in his coma.

"Six months." He said before he scrubbed his hand over his chin. He was starting to get agitated. The time frame and symptoms didn't make sense. Nevertheless he looked up possible therapy for his issues. They were all simple enough. Exercise, long soaks in hot bubbling water, acupuncture, meditation while burning medicinal herbs, masturbation. John made a face at the last suggestion, but several people swore by it's effectiveness.

His introspection didn't go unnoticed. The other officers even remarked that they were surprised to see him in the stations gym - now he went every day. It was funny - so many of them would be sweating and out of breath as they exercised but John found that even when he went all out he didn't get winded. He ran an hour at top speed before he even began to breathe heavier. He went down the entire row of weights until he found a set that actually took some effort to lift. And even then he did several hundred reps before he felt his muscles start burning. The same thing happened when he did sit ups, pull ups, squats. He even joined in a few sessions of Dancercise and Yoga. Stretching felt amazing. He didn't realize he had been wound so tightly until he tried it. Bending over and touching his toes was practically a religious experience. He felt it all the way up the backs of his legs - the muscles in his buttocks tingling. His spine popping and setting into alignment as he exhaled. It certainly made him feel better about his body. He had a new appreciation for how it moved and worked.

John started to feel better after a few weeks - muscles humming and warm for the first time since he woke up in the freezing hospital ward. He decided it was time to examine himself closer so he headed back to his quarters. On his way he ran into Admiral Marcus. John barely heard what he said as he excused himself quickly. He didn't see the puzzled look Marcus gave him or how it dissolved into concern as the man marched off to the med bay. John made it back to his quarters and locked the door quickly. If anyone else disturbed him he might lash out. For a brief moment he regretted all he'd done to get comfortable in his skin - it was causing some sort of reaction in him. He told his assistant and commanding officers that he wasn't feeling well - which was true - and they took him off duty for the night. He checked the lock on the door again before stripping down.

He had never been fond of his mirror. The reflection in it always confused him. But now he watched his face closely - stared into his own eyes, took in their slanted shape, his dark lashes and brows. He pressed his fingers to his prominent cheek bones then slid them down the length of his narrow nose, over his pink lips to his pointed chin. This was his face - this was how it looked. He told himself that as he bared his teeth. He leaned back, tilted his head back and examined his neck - the jut of his collar bones as they split off to his shoulders. He flexed his arms, his chest. There was something about how pale he was - he could see some of his larger veins through his skin. One in the crook of his elbow caught his eye. When he ghosted his fingers over it it sent an odd tremor through his body. Not unlike when Eros had squeezed his knee cap.

"Ticklish." The word sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth. He barely felt pain, nothing left a bruise on him, not even that wrench that had fallen on his instep the other day. He glanced down at his feet. The floor was cold and he wiggled his toes on the surface. Again he could see a hint of pale teal veins beneath his blanched skin. He looked in the mirror again and touched his fingers to his navel. Eros' piercing came to mind - he wondered if she felt pain when she got it. What little sounds she made to keep from screaming.

When she entered his thoughts it seemed he couldn't get rid of her. He liked her color - naturally brown with dark nipples. Round eyes, plump upper lip, soft skin with little peach fuzz hairs littering the surface. She seemed so comfortable touching herself - like there had never been a day that she questioned the feel of her own flesh. The way she gently raked her lime green nails down her body before they disappeared into her panties.

"Shit." He cursed. His body was doing things against his will again. Instead of resisting and denying his thoughts of Eros he let more flow in. That first time she had danced for him he had been so hot before he broke the glass in his hand. The pain had sent him into a frenzy. But now there was only tingly little waves washing over him as he thought of how she pressed her ass against him. Supple and warm even through his clothes. He slid his hand down and raked his short nails through his pubic hair. He glanced down at his erection curiously. The protective foreskin slid back the harder he got. The tip was already starting to get wet - he touched it and regarded the fluid he was leaking. He knew what it was, it's purpose - lubrication for skin on skin friction.

When he stroked himself he felt a little light headed so he moved to his bed. Leaning against the edge he continued his ministrations. Rubbing a little faster - eager to touch that spot on the underside of the tip that made the soles of his feet sweat. He noticed with some amusement that he was already breathing hard. Sweat trickling down his temples as his body revved up - almost like it was expecting an attack of some sort. "Ahh…" He put his head back and let out a few quiet moans. Not because he thought someone might hear him but because he couldn't seem to get in enough air to be any louder. He closed his eyes and all he could see was Eros. A peek of her cleavage as she leaned over to give him a drink. The sight of her breasts once she exposed them to his sight. The sound of her laugh when she was high - uninhibited and free. That trick she did when she was somehow halfway up the pole and spread eagle right at his eye level. Sparkly gold panties and bright blue lipstick. The taste of vodka and cranberries - warmth prickling in his cheeks. "Yes!"

John was so close. So very close. He gripped the bed frame and stood on the balls of his feet. Just as he was imagining the way Eros smiled he got a flash of another woman. No one he had met since he woke up. She had brown skin and short black hair and he felt something he hadn't before as she crossed his mind. Just as quickly as she was there she was gone as his eyes flew open - his orgasm peaking so hard he inhaled sharply and let out an awkward howling grunt. It was as close to unhindered sound as he was ever going to make. And it felt so good - like feeling the warmth of a sun on his skin or the satisfaction of deep restful slumber. It was a million hot showers and finished projects. The serenity of quiet open space or witnessing the birth of a star. Magnificence and clarity from such a simple act. It was filthy and pure at the same time. He didn't feel disgusted with himself - not even when he saw the mess he had made all over his hand and the floor. Nearly as soon as his semen hit the floor a little robotic sweeper came out the wall and cleaned it up before going back to it's hiding place.

"That was amazing." He sighed to himself. When he let go of the edge of the bed he looked down when he heard the metal squeak a bit. From his time spent in the gym he knew he was strong but he didn't know he was strong enough to leave a dent in his solid metal bed frame. "What the hell am I?"

—