Hal woke to the harsh glow of a bright lamp and the rhythmic whir of a ceiling fan cutting through the heavy stillness of the room. His eyes fluttered open, disoriented, mind cloudy, his body sluggish as if weighed down by unseen hands. A sharp jolt of panic shot through him as he sat up too quickly, his pulse hammering in his ears. He was in a bed—a hospital bed, stiff and sterile beneath him.
As his vision adjusted, the details of the room took shape. It wasn't the clean, orderly kind of hospital he expected. Instead, the space had the air of an old mess hall repurposed into something vaguely medical. Metal cabinets lined the walls, their once-polished surfaces dulled by time and grime. Wooden shelves sagged under the weight of dusty bottles filled with murky, unrecognizable liquids. The floor and lower walls were covered in dirty white tiles, cracked and stained with age. The entire place carried the scent of antiseptics.
Hal swallowed hard. Where was he? And more importantly—how did he get here?
Then, the fog in his mind began to lift. And he remembered.
His last memory was of dying. Not here. Not in this weird place. But in a different hospital, surrounded by doctors and the sterile scent of disinfectant. He had been sick—terminally sick. There had been no mistaking it. He was supposed to be dead.
Yet, here he was.
His hand trembled as he raised it to his face—and froze. The skin beneath his fingertips was smoother than he remembered. His beard was gone, and he distinctly recalled refusing to shave it. His arms, once lean and almost skeletal, now felt smaller but fuller, as if he had shrunk. Slowly, he turned his wrist over. A thick metal band encased his forearm, snug against his skin. A small red light blinked rhythmically from its surface. A device that he had never seen before.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he pushed himself to stand, only for his knees to buckle beneath him. He caught himself on the bed frame, heart pounding, breath unsteady. It took a few moments before he managed to stand upright. His body felt unfamiliar. Off balance.
Then, in the corner of the room, he spotted it.
A mirror.
His legs carried him toward it before he had even fully processed the thought. And then, finally, he reached it.
The reflection staring back at him stole the breath from his lungs.
It was him—but not as he was before. It was a younger version of himself. Years younger. His face was smooth, untouched by time or illness. His brown hair, disheveled and unkempt, fell over his forehead just like it had when he was younger. But his eyes—his haunting green eyes—were exactly the same.
"What in the hell…"
The words barely escaped his lips, his voice hollow, laced with disbelief.
It was then that he heard the door of the room click open. Hal turned his head just in time to see someone step inside. He noticed that the door had a high-tech remote lock—far more advanced than anything he'd expect in a regular hospital. That alone made him more suspicious of this place.
A young woman entered. Blonde hair, striking features. She wore a crisp lab coat and carried a sleek tablet in one hand. Her expression remained unreadable as her gaze settled on him, who was standing stiffly in front of the mirror.
"I see you're finally awake," she said, her voice calm but matter-of-fact. "You've been out for a while. A full week, actually."
Hal frowned. "Who are you?" He didn't recognize her—she wasn't from the hospital where he'd last been. "And where is this? Why am I here?"
The woman tilted her head slightly, then tapped a note into her tablet. "You don't remember?" She let the question hang for a second before continuing. "You collapsed right outside this facility. Gave security quite a scare."
Hal blinked. "What?" That made no sense. His last clear memory was of dying—hooked up to machines, too weak to move. And now she was telling him he'd been found unconscious outside this building? The thought made his head spin.
He hesitated. What was he supposed to say? Should he lie? Should he admit the truth—that none of this added up? That waking up here felt like stepping into a waking dream?
Before he could decide, the woman spoke again, as if sensing his hesitation. "You know what? Let's not do this here. Come to my office. We can talk over tea and biscuits, if you'd like."
Hal exhaled sharply, shaking off the fog in his mind. "Uh… yeah. Sure."