AN UNCERTAIN PAST

Chapter 1: Bad Dreams

The light filtering through the trashed, dirty blinds stabbed at my eyelids, dragging me up from my misery of unconsciousness, and if unconsciousness was misery then being awake must be purgatory.

My mouth felt like something stuffed with cotton and sand, my hair felt greasy and unkempt, and the smell. God, it stank like someone had died in here for Christ sake…
…

Legs feels like rubber, I can hardly drag myself up to a sitting position in the bed, no, not ‘bed’, a more appropriate word would be ‘IT’ considering how many beings seemed to live inside it. My head hurt, and so does my eyes, I feel like I have been at the longest party of my life, and the hangover of hell is coming along for the ride.

Something is very wrong here, I think as I stare sleepily at the single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
…

Now I’m feeling a little better, the shower in the bathroom was functional; soap would have been useful but no such luck. Where the hell are my pants, and more importantly, where the hell am I? This is not my home, nor is it any of my hideouts.

I stare out from the window and see garbage, skeletal remains of houses and Devilrats the size of Rottweilers, the Barrens then, what the hell am I doing in the Barrens?

And why are my memories so damn fuzzy?
…

Shit! Well, that’s the best way I have of describing the situation…

Ok, time to calm down and think, think dammit, what the hell am I doing in the Barrens inside a run down apartment with two to hell and back cybered corpses wearing Armani suits?

No ID, no fingerprints and no nothing, except a lot of bullet holes. These guys don’t even exist. And why…

My deck, where is my deck?
…

They killed her… They killed my baby… Why, she never harmed anyone, we just sliced some data now and then, nothing serious, I think…

That does it - someone toasted my Deck! That someone is going to die!
…

I look at the table with a mixture of horror and curiosity as the information finds its way in my still fogged head. Laés the etiquette on the bottle says, and a used syringe lies beside it, along with detailed instructions in how it is used. I absently rub at a sore spot at the inside of my right elbow before it actually register on me, sure enough, needle marks…

Ok, my little Jon Doe’s has some usefulness at least, they had guns and money, and the second one even had a little pocket computer, perhaps I can find some information there?

Why did they drug me of all people?

I hate mysteries, especially those that involves ME…