Beep. Beep. Beep.

That was the first he noticed as Johnny Cage slowly drifted back to consciousness, his head throbbing with a relentless pain that seemed to encompass his entire being. He felt as if his whole body was lit on fire. As his senses returned, he felt something uncomfortable in his throat.

Damn, it was uncomfortable.

He groaned softly, the sound muffled by the tube in his mouth, as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

Opening his eyes proved daunting. Each attempt met with resistance as if invisible forces weighed down his eyelids. Finally, after an eternity, his blurred vision cleared enough to take in his environment.

He wasn't in the forest anymore. Instead, he found himself lying on his back in a hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling his nostrils. Confusion clouded his mind as he tried to piece together how he had ended up here. The last fragments of memory were hazy at best, a blur of pain and disorientation.

Who had shot him? Why?

The questions swirled in his mind, but the answers remained elusive, lost in the fog of his memory loss. He struggled to recall his identity, a disturbing feeling of detachment washing over him as he realized he couldn't remember who he was.

As his awareness slowly returned, Johnny became more acutely aware of his physical state. A tube in his mouth restricted his speaking ability, forcing him into a frustrating silence.

Johnny glanced down at his bare chest, noting the bandages that covered his abdomen and chest, evidence of some traumatic injury he couldn't recall.

Panic threatened to overtake him as the reality of his situation sank in. Alone in a hospital bed, his memories fragmented and his body battered, Johnny Cage faced a daunting journey of recovery and rediscovery, unsure of what awaited him beyond the confines of his hospital room.

As Johnny Cage's panic surged, the monitors in the hospital room began to blare alarming sounds, indicating his escalating distress.

A sense of terror gripped him as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings and the unfamiliar sensations coursing through his body.

In a flurry of activity, a nurse burst into the room, her voice calm but urgent as she tried to reassure Johnny.

" Hey, hey. Please try to calm down. Everything is going to be okay," she said, her words intended to soothe but falling short in the face of Johnny's mounting fear.

Unable to speak due to the tube lodged in his mouth, Johnny's attempts to convey his distress were futile. His heart raced, his chest heaving with rapid breaths as he felt trapped and helpless in his own body.

Desperation fueled his actions as Johnny's hands reached for the tube in his mouth, a primal urge to rid himself of the foreign object overriding rational thought. The nurse moved quickly, gently restraining his hands and urging him to stop.

"Please, sir, you need to keep the tube in place. It's helping you breathe," she explained, her voice a steady anchor in the storm of Johnny's panic.

More nurses rushed into the room, their faces lined with concern as they assessed the situation.

" What happened?" One of them asked, grabbing one of Johnny's arms

" I don't know. He was like this when I walked in." The nurse replied.

" He's having a panic attack."

Another one of them spoke with a sense of urgency. "We need to sedate him. He's going to hurt himself if we don't," she said, her words a stark reminder of the gravity of Johnny's distress.

Despite his protests, Johnny felt a wave of drowsiness wash over him as the sedative took effect. His struggles weakened, his eyelids growing heavy as darkness closed in once again, this time not from unconsciousness but from the sedative-induced calm that enveloped him.

As Johnny drifted into a drugged slumber, his mind still reeling with unanswered questions and fragmented memories, the nurses worked quickly to ensure his safety, their professional demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos of Johnny's inner turmoil.

———

Johnny Cage floated in the void, lost and disoriented. The blackness around him was vast, endless, and utterly devoid of anything familiar. He felt weightless, suspended in nothingness, with no sense of direction or time. How long had he been here? Was he dead? The thought swirled in his mind, but he couldn't grasp it long enough to make sense of it. It was like trying to hold onto smoke.

Who was he?

The question echoed in his mind, but the answer was just out of reach. He felt fragments of memories flicker and fade, like distant stars blinking in and out of existence. A flash of a face—someone important. A warmth, a connection—but then it was gone. He tried to chase it, but the harder he reached, the further it slipped away.

Then he heard it—a distant yet familiar voice. It echoed through the void, reaching out to him.

"Remember."

The word resonated deep within him, stirring something primal and ancient in his soul. But what was he supposed to remember? Everything was so confusing, so fragmented. He tried to speak, to ask the voice what it meant, but no words came out. His thoughts were jumbled, his mind a haze.

"Remember, Johnny," the voice called again, a little more potent this time, more insistent. "You have to remember."

Johnny? Was that his name? The name felt right, like a piece of a puzzle snapping into place. But it was still just a name—a label with no meaning, no connection to anything else.

"Save him," the voice urged. "You have to save him again."

Save him? Who? The confusion intensified, the void pressing in around him. But even as he struggled, he felt a pull, a sensation that was both terrifying and comforting at the same time. The voice was about to say more, to reveal something crucial—but before it could, Johnny felt a force yanking him away, pulling him out of the void and back into the waking world.

——

As Johnny Cage's consciousness resurfaced, he found himself caught in the uncomfortable grip of the tube still lodged in his throat. Every breath was a reminder of his fragile state, the sensation of air filling his lungs feeling foreign and unsettling. He shifted restlessly on the hospital bed, his body weak and achy from the ordeal he had been through.

Johnny's eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly, revealing the sterile hospital room around him. It wasn't a dream; he was still in the same place, still grappling with the aftermath of his injuries and the mysterious events that had led him here.

His head throbbed with persistent pain, a constant reminder of the bullet wound that had left him disoriented and lost. As he lay there, trying to gather his thoughts, Johnny's attention was drawn to the sound of voices outside his room.

" He needs rest, sir." The voice sounded like a female.

" Well, as soon as he wakes up, I must ask him some questions." The other person's voice was male and sounded much deeper than the first.

Johnny's curiosity increases as he wonders who they are talking about.

" I get you're doing your job, but I must also do mine. He's my patient, and I must ensure he is okay. He had a panic attack a couple of days ago, and I don't want to stress him out even more."

A flicker of gratitude sparked in Johnny's chest, cutting through the haze of pain. The nurse was protecting him, standing up for him even though she didn't know what was going on in his life. She was fighting to keep him safe, to give him time to heal.

Johnny can hear the deep voice let out a heavy exhale: "I see. Very well. I'll come back later to speak with your patient. But know that this conversation must happen sooner rather than later."

Johnny's eyebrows furrowed as the conversation ended. He had so many questions that needed answers.

The actor heard the door to his room opening. With his tired eyes, Johnny glanced at the source of the sound. It was the nurse.

The nurse had a surprise look on her face, "Oh my." She said her demeanor was professional yet kind as she approached Johnny's bedside. "Ah, you're awake," she remarked, her tone gentle as she checked the monitors and glanced at his chart.

Johnny tried to respond, to ask questions, but the tube in his throat rendered his attempts at speech futile. He looked at the nurse pleadingly, urging her to understand his unspoken questions.

" Ahhhhh, I see…" the nurse said in a sympathetic tone, " Let me grab a doctor and see if your lungs are strong enough to breathe independently.

Johnny just nodded in response as he watched the nurse leave his room. He would like to get this godforsaken tube out of his mouth.

The actor didn't have to wait too long for the nurse to return with the doctor.

" Okay, sir. I must check your lungs to see if they are strong enough to function independently." The doctor explained, "We can remove the breathing tube. But if not, unfortunately, the tube will have to stay for a little bit longer."

Johnny winced from the sound of having the tube in his mouth longer than he wanted to. He just hoped everything would be fine.

The doctor started to check Johnny's lungs. He went down the list and made notes on Johnny's chart. Using his stethoscope, the doctor felt around the actor's bare chest to check his lungs. Eventually, the doctor finished his assessment with satisfaction.

Smiling at the actor, the doctor said, " Well, sir, I have some good news. It seems your lungs have healed enough for them to function independently."

Johnny closed his eyes with relief.

The doctor continued, " However, they are weak from your ordeal. So do not strain yourself, sir."

Johnny nodded in response.

" Alright, let's take this tube out." The doctor said, gently grabbing the tube, " Okay, on the count of three, I need you to give a few coughs, and then I will pull the tube out. It's going to feel uncomfortable, but it's necessary. Can you do that for me?"

The actor nodded weakly, mentally preparing himself for the uncomfortable event.

" Okay, ready? One. Two. Three."

Johnny had a few coughs while the doctor gently pulled on the tube. Johnny wanted to throw up. Hell, he might after this.

With practiced care, the doctor removed the tube from Johnny's throat. This caused him to cough dryly. His thoughts felt like sandpaper rubbing against one another.

After composing himself, Johnny took a few deep breaths, the sensation of air filling his lungs a small victory amid his confusion and pain.

The nurse held a cup of ice chips to Johnny's lips, " Here, this should help the dryness in your throat."

Johnny let the ice chips fall into his mouth and down his throat. Relief washed over him as the ice chips refreshed his mouth and throat with cool water.

The actor turned to the nurse and doctor with a grateful smile, " T-t-thank… you…." His voice was barely a whisper.

" You're welcome, sir." The doctor said, giving Johnny a warm smile before returning to business. Now, can you tell me your name?"

Johnny hesitated momentarily, the weight of his memory loss and uncertain identity pressing down on him. "Johnny... Johnny Cage," he managed to say, his voice hoarse from disuse and discomfort.

The doctor gave Johnny a small smile, "It's nice to meet you, Johnny."

Johnny returned the smile, " You… too…"

"How are you feeling, Johnny?" the doctor asked, his voice gentle but probing.

Johnny opened his mouth to speak, but it felt like his throat was sand-filled. He coughed, his body wracked with pain from the effort, and it took a moment before he could manage to get the words out.

"Pain," Johnny rasped, his voice weak and strained. It was the only word he could think of to describe his feelings. Every part of his body hurt—his head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, his ribs felt like they were on fire, and his limbs were heavy and uncooperative.

The doctor nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine. You've been through a lot, Johnny. But don't worry, we can do something about the pain."

Johnny barely registered the doctor's words. He was too weak, too tired to do anything but listen. His mind felt like it was wrapped in a thick fog, making it hard to think clearly.

The pain was overwhelming, but there was something else too—a gnawing emptiness like a part of him was missing. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

The doctor cleared his throat, pulling Johnny's attention back to him. "Johnny, do you remember what happened?"

Johnny frowned, trying to grasp at the fleeting fragments of memory that seemed to be just out of reach. But the more he tried to focus, the more they slipped away like sand through his fingers.

"I… I don't know," Johnny admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His mind felt like a blank slate, devoid of any concrete memories. There were flashes—darkness, pain, a voice calling out to him—but nothing that made sense.

The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse, who stood quietly by Johnny's side, her expression filled with concern. The doctor sighed and pulled up a chair, sitting at Johnny's bedside.

"When you were brought in, your condition was extremely critical," the doctor began, his tone serious. "You had multiple severe injuries, including several broken ribs and a gunshot wound to the head."

Johnny's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the gunshot wound. His hand instinctively moved toward his temple, where he could still feel the dull throb of pain. The idea that he had been shot—had nearly died—was almost too much to process.

"How… how did I get here?" Johnny asked, his voice shaky.

The nurse, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward. "A truck driver found you on the side of the road and brought you in," she explained gently. "You were barely conscious when you arrived."

Johnny tried to remember, but his mind was a blur. He recalled nothing about a truck driver or even being on the road. The last thing he remembered was… he wasn't even sure what the last thing he remembered was. Everything before waking up in the hospital was a fog.

"You were in terrible shape when you arrived," the doctor continued, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "Your ribs were broken, and the gunshot wound to your head was life-threatening. You flatlined multiple times during surgery."

Johnny felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the doctor's words. Flatlined. He had been that close to death multiple times. He could see the gravity of the situation reflected in the doctor's eyes, the tension in the room palpable.

"We almost lost you," the doctor said quietly. "There were moments when we didn't think you were going to make it."

Johnny felt a wave of nausea wash over him as he tried to come to terms with what the doctor was saying. He had been so close to dying, closer than he had ever been before. And yet, here he was, lying in a hospital bed, still alive, but only barely.

"The bullet," the doctor said, drawing Johnny's attention back to him. "It's still in your head."

Johnny's breath hitched, his heart racing as he tried to process the doctor's words. "What… what do you mean?"

The doctor sighed, his expression filled with a kind of resigned sadness. "We couldn't remove the bullet without causing more harm. It's lodged in a part of your brain that's too risky to operate on. Trying to remove it could have left you paralyzed or worse."

Johnny stared at the doctor, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. There was a bullet in his head. A bullet that could have killed him and was still there, a constant reminder of how close he had come to the end.

"So… it's just… in there?" Johnny asked, his voice trembling slightly.

The doctor nodded. "Yes. We'll have to monitor you closely to make sure there aren't any complications. But for now, the most important thing is for you to rest and recover."

The actor could not help but ask another question, " How… long was… I out?"

The doctor paused for a minute. He didn't know if Johnny could handle the answer. But he thinks Johnny deserves to know the truth.

" Mr. Cage, you were in a coma."

Johnny's eyes widened slightly, " What? A coma?"

The doctor sighed, " Indeed. You were in a coma for three weeks."

That hit Johnny like a punch to the gut, " This… has to… be… some… kind of… joke…"

" Does it look like I'm joking, Mr. Cage?" The doctor said, giving Johnny a severe facial expression.

Johnny searched the doctor's face, looking for any signs that he was joking. But he didn't find anything.

The doctor was severe.

Fuck.

Johnny felt a deep sense of helplessness wash over him. He was alive, but barely. He lost so much time, and he didn't know what happened to him. Not to mention, his body was broken, his mind a haze, and now he had to live with the knowledge that there was a bullet in his head that could never be removed.

He looked at the nurse, watching him with a compassionate expression. "I… I don't understand," Johnny said, his voice cracking. "How… how did this happen? Who did this to me?"

The nurse reached out and gently took Johnny's hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "We don't know, Johnny," she said softly. "But you're safe now. We're going to take care of you."

But Johnny didn't feel safe. He felt lost, confused, and more alone than he had ever felt in his life. His memories were still a blur, his mind a maze of half-formed thoughts and questions he didn't know how to answer.

All he knew for sure was that he was in pain and that he had come so close to losing everything. And as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something—someone—he needed to remember. Someone he needed to save.

But for now, all he could do was close his eyes and try to find some semblance of peace amid the chaos. And hope that, in time, the answers will come.