Disclaimer: They're not mine and that's so unfair

-With the face of the devil-

Chapter 2: Waking up is hard

He was lying face down on a shore, not knowing how he got there. He felt how the water was slowly covering his body. When he tried to get up, he realized that he couldn't move, remembering it didn't matter. After all, he was dead. That was nothing more than heaven, hell or whatever.

Little fingers lightly touched his back. Logan wanted to turn and see the face of his company, but was still unable to move. Feeling as sea level began to rise even more, he began to despair. "You have to wake up." The childish voice of a girl said. "Otherwise, you will have wasted your wish Logan."

The girl jumped up, passing over him, and then started to run along the beach, waving her crimson dress with the smooth movement of the wind, like her brown curls. Logan tried to scream and order her to return, he needed her help... and he failed again, remaining motionless and silent. Meanwhile, the water continued to cover him. He began to feel like he was drowning. Though he was dead, the feeling was so real, so stressful.

He could not believe he would die in his own death.

He woke up very scared. That had felt so real. Then, he looked around and saw the IV, the EKG cables, the medical equipment. He wasn't dead. Once he fully recovered his breath, he noticed that he wasn't feeling pain at all.

Bad, bad, bad. Too bad. No pain could only mean one thing: the damage was big, too big. Surely he was now a quadriplegic. He sighed, thinking White would be dead, or at least sharing a fate similar to his.

But he was alive, and wanted to be himself the one who knew the bad news first. He was disappointed because once again he had triumphed over death, and still, didn't come out unscathed. He didn't want anyone else to come and give him the information.

He didn't want Max to tell him, to see him like that.

He closed his eyes and tried to lift his left arm, and then opened again, afraid, but he saw his arm raised.

A big, beautiful smile appeared on his features, as if he had done something that he had never done before, something impossible. He repeated the action with his hands, legs, feet. Everything was in perfect order.

Soon, Logan sat on the edge of the bed, and with his face looking at the monitor, began to analyze his vital signs.

His heart beating, respiratory rate, temperature, blah blah blah. Each and every one of the parameters were fine. Even Logan thought he was arguably better than ever.

In the bottom right of the screen, some personal data appeared briefly; however, it did not coincide with his. Instead of the name, appeared only 3 letters, which may be some initials, but they were not his, unless his CLG had changed to WAD. Then, at his age, appeared 38 years, instead of his real - and well-lived - 33. Logan frowned, indignant with that, before seeing the most bizarre and, definitely, false data. His blood was AB negative, not O negative as indicated by the monitor.

Logan extended his arm toward a small table on which lay a medical record, at the time a nurse entered the room, and looked at him, obviously surprised to find not only awake, but sitting. "Mr. White. "The young woman came up and gently tucked him into bed."You should not move yet. Definitely you must rest as much as possible." Finally, Jenny Sullivan, as was indicated on her uniform, show a hypocritical smile. "Do you feel okay?"

White? Logan frowned again. Upon hearing the question, he tried to respond, to ask an explanation, but could not utter a word, which reminded him of the little girl in his dreams. He nodded his head.

"I'm glad." Jenny faked her smile again. "I'll call Dr. Johnson and communicate with your familiars. I'm sure that they'll be happy to know that you're fine." The nurse made a last look at the monitor and drugs that reached him through the IV, and left the room.

Alone, Logan began to think again. The fact that someone - most likely to be Max - had admitted him to the hospital and had said he was five years older than he really was, ceased to bother him, unable to think in more than the last name. White? With so many last names in the world, why would they choose White? Even if someone else had been responsible for it, Max would not have allowed someone calling him White. It was like being called with the name of the devil.

Ignoring the recommendation of the nurse, he sat back and gazed at the monitor data. He buried himself on his thoughts about that file he read when White turned into the new bad guy in Max's life. WAD. The W was inevitably White. A and D ... Ames Daniel? He shook his head at such an absurd thought. That was even more impossible, illogical. A and D could mean many other names.

Then he remembered the date of birth of White. August 23, 1983. Compared with the date appearing on the monitor, January 13, 2022 - wow, two months out Cale -. White was 38. For some reason he could not - or didn't want to, for that matter –remember White's blood type.

Then he could see his reflection in the monitor, and what he saw froze him, removing any doubt left. What he saw was a face, but they were not his eyes or his lips, nose, hair.

They were White's.

He was White.

Short one. But I wanna get you guys in the mood (?). This is just getting better. :) see you soon!

Thx for the reviews!! Are really appreciated :)