Still sore from the beating I had taken, and with all the medication they pumped into me before they left me here for dead, I could barely keep my eyes focused, but there was no mistaking the man sitting across the room from me.

"Hey, roomie."

Ladies and Gentleman, Tyler Durden was back.

"I'm impressed. I didn't think you would have had the balls to take those meatheads on without me around. Sure, I helped you get it started, but you didn't back down once the shit hit the fan. Not too shabby."

Tyler got up from where he had been sitting on the cold floor and walked around the dark room, taking in our surroundings, the only light coming from the small window in the solid steel door.

"This is one hell of a setup you've got here," he said as he looked at my tiny cell with disdain. "Bet you miss the ol' shithole on Paper Street now, huh?"

"T-Tyler," I whispered, slurring my speech. I was so doped up I could barely form the words. "I'm...I'm.. sorry..." I managed to get out. And I was. Sure, I still wish that Project Mayhem hadn't gone as far as it did under Tyler's leadership, but what I had done to him was wrong. At least, that was all I could think of in my hazy, drug induced state.

"Hey, man, it's all in the past. We've got some more important things to take care of right now. Besides..." He knelt down beside my bed with that trademark smirky grin on his face, "I know you didn't mean it."

Up close now, he surveyed the damage done to me by the big gorilla and his buddies, and the grin slowly left his face. "Shit, man, you're really a fuckin mess..." Using all the strength and coordination I had left in me, I managed to lethargically turn my head in his direction, trying to focus my eyes long enough to look into his.

"Tyler..." I said, trying to lift my arm reach over to him. "What...what are we....gonna...." I trailed off as Tyler put his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry about that. I've got some thinking to do. You just get your rest, champ. You're gonna need it," he said. It was so strange to hear him talk like that to me again, like a friend, the way he used to be. Maybe because the last memories I had of him before he left was of Tyler Durden, the unquestioned leader of an army of space monkeys, beating the living shit out of me and holding a gun to my head.

I was so scared of him then. But really, he was me, so I was only scared of myself.

It still confuses me sometimes. Sometimes I still like to pretend that we're not really the same person, because it's easier to think that I'm not capable of the things Tyler was. But I can't do that for long, because lately, ever so slowly, Tyler's memories had begun to surface in my brain as my own. I could remember now some of the things I had done when I was Tyler. I remember the sensation of Marla's hot, sweaty skin underneath me as we fucked like a pair of animals on the floor of the old house. I remember the impact of the fat fuck Lou's fists on my face, and the blood flowing out of my nose and mouth. I remember flying to a dozen different cities, setting up fight clubs in mere days.

Tyler stood up and walked over to the door, looking out the window. He studied the door itself for a minute, as if trying to find any weakness it might hold.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath before walking back to the wall across from my bed and sitting on the floor. He obviously understood how little hope of ever escaping we had. Sort of ironic, when you think about it. One of Tyler's more famous mantras had been that losing all hope was freedom. Not anymore. Here, losing all hope would be surrendering to the fact that we might never be free again. By the look on his face, and uncharacteristic silence coming from him, I could tell he knew. He knew, because I knew.

But we were going to have to forget what we knew.

Because now Tyler was going to have to think of something else.