What is this? Where am I?
The thought surged through my mind like a thunderclap, raw and panicked. I couldn't see clearly—everything was blurry and distorted, like looking through fogged glass. The world around me felt enormous, overwhelming, and foreign. My limbs wouldn't respond properly. They felt weak, small, and uncoordinated.
Why can't I move? I tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled coo. A wave of helplessness washed over me, more intense than anything I'd felt before. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't some strange hallucination. Something was wrong.
Suddenly, a face came into focus. It was warm and kind, framed by dark hair and soft features. She smiled at me, her voice soothing. "You're okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here."
Mommy?
The word pierced through my panic like an arrow. My mother died while I was young. No. This wasn't possible. I wasn't… I wasn't a baby. I wasn't supposed to be. The last thing I remembered was the hospital. The pain. The endless beeping of machines that were keeping me alive. The moment everything went dark. I had died. I was sure of it.
So how was I here?
The woman rocked me gently in her arms. My vision cleared slightly, just enough to make out another figure standing in the background. Tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing, with a thick mustache and an air of quiet authority.
"Are babies usually this small and fragile, Debbie?" His voice was deep, steady, and carried a faint edge of curiosity.
"Yes, Nolan," the woman—Debbie—replied with a soft laugh. "Even you had to be small and fragile as a baby. You're not exactly exempt from biology."
She turned her gaze back to me, her eyes filled with love. "Look at you, my little Mark. You're perfect."
Mark.
Debbie.
Nolan.
The names echoed in my mind, distant and faint but undeniably familiar. I clung to them, desperate for something to anchor myself. They meant something. Something important. Something that explained all of this. But the pieces wouldn't click. My thoughts were a chaotic storm, and every time I tried to focus, the warmth of Debbie's arms and the exhaustion in my tiny body pulled me back into the present.
For now, I let the names drift into the background, choosing instead to observe the people in front of me. Debbie's voice was kind, soothing. She held me with a tenderness I hadn't felt in years. Her touch reminded me of my own mother—gentle but strong, protective. It was almost enough to calm the storm inside me.
Almost.
My eyes drifted to Nolan. He was… terrifying. Not in a conventional sense, but in the way he stood, the way he watched me. His gaze wasn't cruel, but it wasn't warm either. It was calculating, curious. Like he was waiting for something.
I couldn't make sense of it. I couldn't make sense of any of it. My body, my surroundings, these people—they were all wrong. And yet, the warmth of Debbie's arms and the exhaustion in my small, fragile body made it impossible to fight the confusion for long.
I let my eyes drift closed, the storm in my mind settling into a quiet hum of unanswered questions. The answers would come later. For now, I had no choice but to wait.