Brian screamed the first time he woke up with a stranger's blood on his hands.

He didn't know where he was or what had happened for the past two days. Just...no memories. Nothing. He was in an old building that was falling apart, in the corner of a crumbling room curled up on a dirty mattress. He was in jeans and a tan hoodie, spattered with the rusty color of dried blood. Clutched in one hand was a black mask with a red face on it, the mouth in the shape of a frown.
He screamed a little more.

Over the next few months the blackouts became a regular ordeal. It would start out as just a headache, then he would wake up in some strange location, who knows where. Usually it was the old building with the dirty mattress. It was always the scariest for him when he woke up covered in blood. He had a full-blown panic attack the time the blood was fresh. The headaches got stronger as time went on. After a while it felt like someone or something was physically pushing on his mind, his consciousness. Like they were fighting for him. For control. At first he would fight back, twice he fought off whatever was pushing him completely. Over time the pushes became stronger, and resisting became harder. Eventually it got to the point where it was a struggle for him to stay conscious throughout the day. Brian didn't know why he was even fighting anymore. It was obvious whatever was pushing was a lot stronger than he was. The next time he felt it push, even just a little, he didn't resist. He felt a cool, almost relaxing sensation wash over his body as he slipped quietly into unconsciousness.

Brian screamed when he woke on the dirty mattress, spattered with blood.