Cowboy Bebop
Masquerade
By Amos Whirly
Chapter One: The Face in the Mirror
The linen sheets were cold against his stiff body. The recycled air in the room felt cold against his face. He struggled to open his eyes, but he found it difficult to move his eyelids. At last his eyelashes separated, and his eyelids parted.
White ceiling, so white it nearly blinded him.
Everything was stiff. He could feel his fingers and his toes, his arms and his legs, but they felt as if they had been in the cold too long. His joints seemed rusted, ill used, and weak.
The rest of the room was as white as the ceiling. A closed window in the corner blocked most of the sunlight he assumed was shining outside. There was no other furniture in the room aside from the bed on which he laid.
Slowly, he became aware of something hard constricting his airway. The feeling returned to his teeth, and he realized he was biting down on some kind of plastic tube that extended down his throat. He fought the urge to gag and kept looking around the room.
A mirror hung on the wall next to the bed, but it was too high to reflect his image.
He saw the nurse call button on the stand next to his bed, and he tried to reach for it, only to find that his arm refused to move. He glared at the stubborn appendage and concentrated. Slowly, his fingers twitched, and he reached for the button. He had no idea how long it took him to lift his arm off of the bed, but it seemed like an eternity to him.
What happened to me? he was asking himself. Where am I? How did I get here?
He stretched for the button.
And his fingers fell short.
What? he thought confusedly.
He tried again, certain he was within reach of the button, but again, his fingers fell short of their target. He let his arm droop, staring at the red button on the stand.
With an angry grunt, he wrapped his fingers around the rail on the side of the bed and pulled. When his body did not budge, he felt like screaming. Determined to sit up, he tried again. He pulled and pulled until he thought his shoulder would pop out of joint.
Finally! His back lifted off the bed, and after an agonizing twenty minutes, he managed to sit up.
He grabbed the breathing tube and yanked it out, choking on the plastic cylinder as it jerked out of his throat. He threw it away and turned to the mirror.
A handsome face stared back at him. Bushy dark green hair sprouted from his scalp in all directions, wild and unkempt. He had a strong chin and a slender nose.
But his eyes.
He wished he had not seen his eyes.
The left was dark brown and intense, but the right—His right eye was gone. There was nothing there but an empty socket.
He reached up haltingly with his working arm and touched it.
That's why I couldn't reach the button, he thought. I was farther away from it than I thought because I was only seeing with one eye.
Gritting his teeth, he began to exercise his right arm, and after at least an hour, he was standing, still glaring into the mirror.
What happened? Where am I?
He gave a start when the door to his room opened. A slender redheaded woman stepped in and shrieked, dropping the tray she carried. She backed out of the door, gawking at him.
"You—You're awake!" she squeaked. "How?"
He turned to her and opened his mouth to speak, but only a jumbled moan came out. He gripped his throat in confusion.
"Now, now," the woman hurried to his side, still overcoming her shock, "you shouldn't be up. After all you've been through."
What have I been through? he tried to scream, but the only noise he could make was moans and mumbles.
The woman guided him back to the confines of his bed.
"The doctor will be in soon to look at you."
With an angry sound, he shook his head, refusing to go back to the bed. The nurse glared at him and grabbed a syringe out of her pocket. He tried to fight, to get away, but he was too slow. The nurse jabbed the needle in his hip. Immediately, a wave of drowsiness overwhelmed him. The nurse somehow managed to heave his tall, lanky frame into the bed.
Sleep was calling to him.
No! You can't sleep! Don't sleep! You have to find out where you are! You have to find out what happened! You have to get back to the— he stopped. Back to the what? Back to where?
As he lay in the bed with sleep overcoming his senses, a terrible empty feeling surged through him.
He had seen his face in the mirror and had accepted without question that it was his. But he had no memory of it.
Where am I? his mind began to panic. How did I get here? Is this a hospital? Why?
He was beginning to realize that he had no memory of anything.
Who am I?
