Pain. That was the first sensation I felt. A profound, pulsating pain spreading from my ribs and shoulders, as if molten metal had seeped under my skin. My eyelids were heavy, yet I compelled them to open. The overhead ceiling was a clean white, adorned with recessed lights gently humming above. A subtle antiseptic odor lingered in the atmosphere.
I'm alive.
My heart raced as I attempted to rise. Tubes pulled on my arms. A monitor was beeping quickly to my left. I glanced down and noticed heavy bandages encircling my chest, with dark threads visible through the gauze near my ribs. My right hand was also wrapped, the skin firm where the rope burns had healed.
To my right, on a small steel tray, sat my mask. The Dust Mask. Its surface was cracked along the edge, the filter smeared with dried blood. My pulse doubled as panic slammed into me.
They've seen my face. My identity…
