"Fuck... it's too hot. Why does my skin feel like it's burning...?"
Disoriented, he pushed himself off the coarse sheets. His gaze drifted to the oak-framed window.
The moon hung low- massive, blood-red, staining the night in a crimson hue.
His body burned as if molten metal flowed beneath his skin. Desperation clawed at him. He stumbled across the room, searching for water, a washroom, anything to ease the agony.
But something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
This wasn't his room.
An unfamiliar ceiling. Alien walls.
The realization struck him like a hammer.
"Where... am I?"
The panic mounted. His breathing quickened. He caught sight of a battered bucket in the corner, water whirling inside.
"That's…"
He lurched toward it and peeked in.. but the surface showed nothing.
No reflection.
Only darkness.
A cold scream tore free from his throat.
"What's happening to me?!"
His hands flew to his face. He felt it- deep cracks tracing across his skin, and from within, a golden light bled out, searing and ethereal.
The cracks pulsed once.. and then, as if never there, vanished.
Leaving behind smooth nothingness.
No eyes. No mouth. No face.
He staggered back, horror shredding his mind.
"Where's my face?! What happened to me?! WHERE AM I?!"
The silence swallowed his cries whole.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned back to the bucket.
And what he saw this time made him recoil in terror.
"That's…"