Light—bright, white, and somehow terrifying—encompassed all. There was no escape. It burned through her eyelids until panic pierced her core. She tried to recoil but only managed a weak flinch, barely more than a facial tick. There had to be a way to break free, to block it out. No matter what she tried, she couldn't roll away or even cover her eyes. Her body refused to cooperate. The light was still there, still engulfing her even with her eyes squeezed shut as tightly as possible. Every breath came faster and shallower than the one before as she struggled, desperate for darkness.
Metal scraped on something hard. The shrill sound grew uncomfortably close, then stopped at her side. Whatever it was stood over her, each hesitant, shaky breath hot on her face. It smelled vaguely like cheese and beer, but she welcomed it. At this point it could smell like partially digested human flesh and she wouldn't mind as long as it continued to block out the damn light. She turned her head until shadows darkened both eyes.
A small gasp filled the room.
"Doctor, I think she's waking up!" a male voice rang out, trailing off as his heavy footfalls thundered out of the room. His voice was completely unfamiliar.
She found it impossible to know how long she'd been alone. Seconds? Days? Her body, in its effort to wake, consumed each second until they'd blended together in an indeterminable blob. Her brain, her limbs...every part of her struggled against the drugs circulating in her system, evident by the foggy numbness that she battled with for control. Even drugged to this extent, she knew her injuries must be bad—probably very bad—but, at this moment, all she felt was heaviness.
Slap, slap, slap. The same ungraceful footsteps returned, but they were not alone. Several more people and a few carts with squeaky wheels rushed in behind like a sad but enthusiastic parade. She struggled to open her eyes to see the show.
"Relax, and don't try to move," a man soothed with practiced calm, "you're in the hospital. There was an accident."
'Accident'? That didn't sound right. She struggled to remember what landed her in this situation. Everything was fuzzy, but she was pretty sure it was no accident. One eye cracked open. Maybe the surroundings would help and some clue would snap everything into place.
A middle-aged man hovered over her so closely his stale coffee breath heated her chilled skin, watching her intently as several other people scurried around the bed. His eyes were tired yet kind, but they failed to hold her attention. How could they when his unkempt nose hairs danced with every breath?
A rough, dry hand gripped her chin. Bright light flashed in each eye and was over as soon as it began, but there was no stopping the fight or flight reflex. Hair stood on end, cold sweat beaded on her brow, and her breath shuddered as panic coursed through her. Blue and red circles filled her vision, the afterimages of the light momentarily blotting out the room no matter how much she blinked.
"Pupil dilation is normal," the man announced to the room at large as he slid the penlight back into his pocket.
"Heart rate spiked but is on its way back down," a woman responded from somewhere behind her. "Pulse ox is good, blood pressure normal," she continued, and the man nodded with each update.
"Good, good," he murmured as he pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat. "Do you remember how you got here?"
She tried to shake her head but her body wouldn't obey. "No," she croaked. That single word burned her throat like fire.
The man leaned back enough for her to finally see him properly. Old-fashioned glasses perched atop short grey hair, and his entire face wrinkled when he smiled compassionately, but something felt wrong. It took a few seconds to decide what it was. His clothes, the white coat over ill-fitting blue cotton top and matching blue pants, were like something from an old video or cheesy doctor drama. Not that she remembered anything specific at all, but it felt wrong. There was no reason to complain, though. They were clean and seemed to fit in with everything else. And they marked him clearly as the man in charge—most likely a doctor of some sort. His eyes never left her as she studied him, but he remained silent until the flurry of activity slowed and the other mystery players disappeared with soft footfalls and squeaky wheels.
Complete silence fell over the room. He leaned in slowly, conspiratorially. "Can you tell me what you do remember?"
Her brow furrowed in concentration. The answer had to be somewhere in her foggy mind. There had to be something… anything. Tears welled in her eyes. It was blank. Everything was blank. No matter how hard she searched, all she could see in her mind was stars. Just empty space.
"It's ok," he soothed, "sometimes it takes awhile to get the mind working again." The doctor smiled and patted her arm as he stood.
She watched, helpless, as he turned his back to her. Something flitted through her mind. A large shape blotted out the stars. Deep, rumbling bass. A red flash. Terror. Pain. Acceptance. "Wait," she called out. "I remember! I'm Commander Shepard of the Systems Alliance…"
The doctor froze, then shot a concerned glance to the back corner of the room and shook his head. Another man appeared at her bedside in a flash, his grey eyes pleading as he took her hand. He spoke to her, but she couldn't focus on his words. All she could see was the large, puffy hand attached to her body. She followed the rounded arm up and gasped. This was not the svelte body of a soldier. Wide eyes searched the room desperately. This wasn't her. None of this was familiar. She didn't belong here. She tried to stand, tried to flee, but nothing happened. Was she paralyzed? Tied down? Were the drugs keeping her immobile? Panic set in. She twisted in the small hospital bed. Bile climbed her throat. Breath came in pants, quick and shallow. Machines behind her beeped and alarms blarred.
Everything was wrong.
Thundering footsteps ran down the hall towards the room. Outnumbered, with more reinforcements on the way, she had only a small chance to take out one or two before they restrained her, and even that wasn't looking likely. She lurched forward with all her strength, her head the only weapon at her disposal. A wet crack echoed through the room and the grey-eyed man screamed, clutching his nose as he fell to the floor. One down. Blood dripped into her eye; it was impossible to tell whose it was, and at the moment it really didn't matter. She blinked away the salty sting and lashed out at the nurse on her right, her teeth grazing the blue fabric. Burning pain filled her left hand and climbed her arm, like lava suddenly deciding to reverse course to climb the volcano for a change. Eyes wild, she searched for the source.
The doctor stood by her side. His hand pulled away slowly, the needle of the empty syringe glistening in the low light. Eventually he leaned over and smiled, every movement drawn out and jerky. "Everything will be ok, Rachel. Just relax." His voice was distorted, like a recording played in slow motion. "Your name is Rachel Johnson. You were in an automobile accident and have been in a coma. It'll come back to you eventually. Don't worry about anything right now, though. Just rest."
The world went dark.