Janus: Stage I
He had a blinding headache. The kind he wished he had forgotten. Or remembered? His mind was incapable of composing coherent thoughts, and no memories—recent or otherwise—were forthcoming.
Who was he again?
The pounding of the headache was slowly fusing the acute pain and dull soreness of his skull into a gentle soothing he willingly fell into, and for some reason, he took comfort in its consistency. It felt reassuring.
Except…what was his name?
His brain surged with a jumble of letters that organized themselves into strange words and names, none of which sounded quite right, and again he retreated into the pulsing calm of his headache. It was beckoning with the promise of permanent respite and peace.
Yet a part of him still fought against such an impossibility. Words like 'virus' and 'Equinox' were beginning to take shape and with them, familiar senses of dread and anxiety, but his psyche didn't collapse like he felt it should have as they developed some sort of meaning. Other, lesser words permeated his brain, but in a different way—was someone speaking? Was he speaking?
No. He knew what his own voice sounded like, was supposed to sound like.
But everything sounded the same in his head. Was he even hearing at all?
The throbbing lull beckoned again, and afraid that he might be sinking into some sort of madness-inducing memory loss, he let the pain envelop him tighter, a voice that could have been in his head or not murmuring about something called Janus and hiding in mazes.
Janus. What on earth was Janus? It didn't fit in with the rest of the words his brain apparently knew. With each repetition of the word, his brain lurched into an electric deluge of satisfaction and intimacy, while the rest of his body rapidly flooded with a feeling akin to devilish revelry. It yanked him back from his Pain's embrace.
Janus. It belonged to him, whatever it was, and him alone. It sounded...safe.
Was he Janus?
Images were now trying to form behind his burning eyes but they were muddled and blurred, with no distinct shapes even barely recognizable to his fragile mind. The amnesia continued to tug on him, his poor consciousness caught in a perilous game of tug-of-war with itself before it would ultimately turn on him. Colors were making their way to his retinas but he ignored them, still beguiled by the name of 'Janus' and its familiar secrets; he finally forced himself from the pounding of the headache with just the very thought of the name. The pain dissipated slowly—until he was able to open his eyes.
Blackness yawned in front of him, and though he felt dismay begin to set in, he knew he should be able to see, pitch-black darkness or not. The earlier sensations brought on by the amnesia's failed coup on his mind—uncertainty and contentedness—were suddenly replaced by feelings more recognizable: frustration and ferocity.
He tried to stretch his limbs and found that they were much more pliant than one would have thought after the pain his head had just endured. No matter. It was indeed rather curious, but he would worry about that later. Right now—
A small speaker somewhere to his right chirped to life.
"Welcome to the Spencer Family Estate, Equinox. Thank you for taking part in Tricell's newest experiment. Please, make your way to the door of your room and await assistance. We will begin momentarily. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. My name is Steve Burnside."