Darkness was the only thing he saw as he slowly opened his eyes. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but intended to find out soon. As he started to stir, his entire body was struck by overwhelming pain. He would have to use methods other than exploration in order to realize his surroundings.

Distantly, a man coughed. Few people would be able to notice such a faint, far-off sound, much less determine whether the cough came from a man or a woman, but he could. Much closer to him than the coughing man, he heard a soft beeping sound, followed by an identical tone about three quarters of a second later, followed by another, and another, and another.

He drew in a deep breath through his nose, sniffing his surroundings. His chest hurt when he did so, but not nearly as badly as when he tried to sit up. The fragrance of the room was that of sterility, cleaning chemicals masking the unmistakable stench of death. This was the one thing he smelled wherever he went, but in this place, it was lingering. Death visited this place often.

He already knew where he was, but he decided he needed some visual evidence to make his case solid. He closed his eyes, and then reopened them slowly. The room, which was previously shrouded in complete darkness, slowly revealed itself to him with every passing second. Soon he could see everything that the darkness masked, almost as if he were looking through a pair of night-vision goggles. But he wore no such apparatus; he didn't need such a thing.

Above him he saw a large light suspended from a metal arm attached to the wall. Next to his bed stood several monitors. There was a large window several feet to his left, completely covered by thick drapes. In front of him was a television suspended from the ceiling, while on his right he saw more monitors, a small table, and two closed doors. The closer of the two, he decided, led to a restroom, the other to a hallway.

He sighed heavily as he rested his head on his pillow. He closed his eyes and whispered to himself in suppressed anger, "A hospital. Perfect."

He lay there for nearly half an hour, thinking of nothing, breathing shallowly, trying to remain perfectly still. He knew that if he moved, he would be attacked by overwhelming soreness, but he decided that he couldn't just lie there like a human-shaped rock. He needed to move.

He opened his eyes slowly; even his eyelids hurt. His hand stretched gradually, and he reached for a small plastic box resting beside him. He delicately felt it, and located a button on it, which he pressed.

Within moments, he heard soft footsteps in the hallway. They approached rather rapidly; a sense of urgency could be heard in them. They drew very close until they momentarily stopped as the door latch clicked and they began anew as the door quietly creaked open.

Soft light streamed into the room, just as a petite woman wearing a white uniform entered. Despite the small amount of light available, he could see her clearly. She seemed to be in her early to mid twenties, only a couple years his senior, and full of life. Her cheerful face was small and cute, while her rust-colored hair just barely graced her shoulders. He thought she was beautiful.

"Ah, it's good to see you awake, Mister McGregor. You had us a little scared." The nurse reached for the dimmer switch on the wall, and the lights slowly came to life, illuminating the room slightly.

The patient, ignoring his soreness, lifted an arm and covered his eyes. Even this small amount of light was too much for him. He let his senses adjust, and then asked, "How did I get here?"

The nurse slowly approached, checking one of the many monitors by his bed. She reached out and adjusted his IV tube, softly answering, "A trucker found you by the highway a little after that...weird...attack or whatever it was. Apparently, you lost control of your vehicle and rolled it."

He lowered his arm and looked at her in confusion. "What attack?"

"There was a strange mind attack a few days ago," she answered. "Everyone felt it. Some are saying that some mutants were trying to kill everyone off. Others are saying that they were non-mutants. And others are saying that it was just some weird phenomenon; nobody was behind it. Whatever it was, quite a few people got hurt. You weren't the only person who went off the road when it happened. Cars ran into trees, off bridges, into other cars. A couple jets even fell out of the sky. Lots of innocent people were hurt, even killed."

McGregor was still somewhat confused. All he managed to say was, "Is my truck alright?"

She giggled softly, flashing him a look of genuine amusement. "Yes, your truck is just fine. Just a few scratches and dings. Some broken glass, a little twisted metal." She injected his IV tube with a small needle. "As for you, you have some pretty bad cuts, bruises, and sprains. No broken bones or internal damage, though."

"But my truck's OK?"

"Mister McGregor, I just gave you something to help dull the pain," she said. "You should be able to go back to sleep if you want to."

"Thanks." He smiled ever so slightly. "And you can call me Jack. 'Mister McGregor' is my father."

The nurse's smile was a bit wider than Jack's. "OK. From now on, it's 'Jack.'"

"And you are?"

The nurse smiled again. "Paula. Paula Brody."

Jack could feel the drugs taking effect. His pain was smothered; numbness and senselessness swallowed him. "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled. Then, just as darkness was all he saw when he awoke, darkness was all he saw as he drifted back into unconsciousness.


Jack could barely see his surroundings. The pain in his head was too intense. He couldn't hear the screeching of the tires. The noise inside him was deafening. He didn't notice it when his head smashed into the window, or when his body was thrown lifelessly from the truck.

When the strange pain within him ceased, he felt as if he was floating on air. There was no ground beneath him, nothing around him. He thought to himself, "Is this Heaven?"

His body was suddenly wracked with pain and his heavenly weightlessness was instantly put to an end as his rag-doll of a body helplessly glanced off of a tree. He struck the ground, and then slid to a stop. He tried to move, but couldn't. He tried to scream, but couldn't. He tried to breathe, but couldn't. His body ached, his eyes saw only red, his lungs burnt. He was helpless, and felt as if he was shrinking, turning into a bloody heap of nothingness.

Suddenly, Jack heard a deafening roar, and he somehow was able to inhale. Then, everything went black.

Jack awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air. His fingers were dug deeply into the mattress, long holes torn into the padding. He was paralyzed in fear and pain, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. He didn't know how long he was stuck in this condition.

"Jack! Jack!" Paula Brody stood over him, trying to snap him out of his hypnotic state. She was almost yelling at him. "Jack! Are you alright?" She reached out to touch his face.

Jack's body relaxed as he felt her soft hand on his cheek. His heart was racing and he was almost to the point of hyperventilating, but he slowly recovered. He looked up at Paula and whispered, "I saw it."

Paula looked both concerned and fearful. "Saw what?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed. His throat felt raw and he could barely speak. "I saw the accident. And...I saw it."

"It must have been pretty frightening for you," she said. "I heard you screaming. At least I think it was a scream. It sounded almost like a roar or a howl."

"It was so real."

"It's alright now, Jack. It was just a nightmare." Paula eased Jack's hands from the deep gouges in the mattress. "But just to be safe, I'm going to have Doctor Brooks come talk to you in the morning. He's the town psychiatrist. Now, try and get some rest."

Jack smiled and nodded his head. He watched as the nurse turned and poured him a glass of water, and thanked her as she handed it to him. She smiled and left the room, turning the lights down as she exited.

He swallowed some of the cool liquid, and then placed the glass on the wheeled bed table beside him. He tried his best to fall asleep, but he couldn't. He didn't want to face the dream again. He didn't want to feel the pain. He didn't want to see whatever that thing was standing over his lifeless body.