No Context [?.?.?]

Revelations outtake presented without context.

...

There's a trickle of sweat down your spine as you press yourself against the floor. Control your breathing. In and out. Slow your racing heart. Control. Nothing will be better by panicking. In fact, it is usually made worse.

Where are you. Not a question. A statement. Where. Why can't you remember. Why can't you ask questions. Why can't you question. Why. Why. You can make the statement but it doesn't unlock anything in you. What is a question even? There. That was it. A question. Slunk through the cracks. No answer. Oh. That's it. It's not the question that's the danger it's the answer.

Breathe. Don't open your eyes. Never makes it better. Enforces boundaries. Places walls. Locked doors. Bars. Ah. So you're captive. Not a question. Not an answer. But information. Good. Facts. You can find those. Just not ask questions. Or get answers. Something must trigger when you do, but wha...

White. Blank. You close your eyes and it turns black.

$!{swear}. Too close. Almost. Not quite. You are breathing. You are on the floor. You can feel concrete under your cheek. Your eyes are closed. All facts. You are [b]still[/b] breathing. Still. Did— no. No question. Statement. You did stop breathing. You almost died. That's why your lungs hurt. That's why your heart raced. Control. Your body is yours. Your palms are pressed against the floor. The angle of your body tells you that you didn't fall. You lay down. If you pushed, you could get to your feet fast. Why would you— No. You might need to get to your feet fast. Good. Fact. No injuries. Bruises. Face and knuckles. Vague pain. Easy to focus on.

So you do.

The pain on your skin, in your flesh, in your bones. Not as bad as the one in your head. Comparisons. Pressure. Your face is twitching. Involuntarily. Did you— No. You had a stroke. An episode. Control. You lay down before you fell down. That is control. Breathe. Your heart is beating. As is your head.

Muscle check.

One by one you test your muscles. Tenses hands. Makes fists. Grimaces. Small movements. It is important it is not noticed. Don't ask why. But your body works. No twitches. No cramps. You think your face obeys you. You can feel your skin contract as you smile.

Are they watching? A question. Not white. Still black. Safe. Enough of a statement. Or the wrong question. Wait. Wait. There are wrong questions. So there must be right questions. Dangerous answers. Are they watching was not dangerous. You know they are. Is he— You break off before you can finish the thought. Breathes until the tension passes. A right question. A dangerous answer. Skirt it. You don't face things head on if you can avoid it. More facts. Collect them. Make them into an effigy to give you a target.

You are a prisoner. Fact. You are watched. Fact. Something happened to you. Not fact, but deduction. This is not a voluntary position. This is not of your doing. Something was done. To you. But. Wait. Who. No. Don't ask. Who. Who are—

The moan terrifies you. Then you realize it is your mouth. Your lungs making the sound. You have listened to a man dying once. Made a similar sound. This is bad. You are not. Not. Well. The moan stops. Your breathing continues. Your heart keeps beating. You don't feel blood. The wetness on your cheek is a pile of drool. Or tears. You know the smell of blood. This is not it. Your pulse is steady. No sign of dropping blood pressure. Fact. You are not shot. You are not stabbed. Fact. You know how it feels to be both of these things. That is not good. People should not know.

People. Fact. You are not.

Bad fact. You keep breathing. You are not people. You know how it feels to get shot. How it feels to get stabbed. You know how it feels to be alive. Good fact. You are alive.

But you fell.

No. You lay down. [b]But you FELL[/b]. Breathe. No broken bones. Your knuckles are scrubbed raw. Not your palms. You brace yourself when you fall.

But you remember the ground.

Breathe. Not now. Old. How— No. Doesn't matter. Old. Not now. This now is different. This now is a concrete floor smelling of damp. This now is quiet. The light behind your eyelids is not strong. Fact. Night. Emergency lights. Sodium orange. Never Dark. Fact. They don't like you when it's dark. Fact. They are afraid of you.

They are [b]afraid[/b] of you.

Breathe. Fear is power. They locked you in here because they are afraid. No. They locked you in here because they could. They had power over you. Bruised knuckles. They did this. They [b]did[/b] this. Did wha—

Breathe. No questions. Something was done to you. Everything can be undone. Don't touch the stove. Cut the wire. Kill the power. Blackout. Wait. Wait. Did. No. You did. You did this. Cut the wire. Blackout. You did this. Not they. You did this so they shouldn't. What you have done you can undo. Easier. No. Harder. You are better than they are. But wh— No. Facts. You don't remember who you are. You don't remember where you are. You don't remember what was done to you. Facts. You are a captive. You did this to yourself. Facts. You don't do things for bad reasons. You had a good reason. You don't mutilate yourself needlessly.

You have. Hurt. Hurt yourself. Better than others. A fire. Light a fire. Drive it to a big fire. No fuel. Fires can't burn without fuel. Thoughts. Control. You don't drive a wrecked car. But. Control. You are regaining it. Ah. Fact. Nobody can know. No. Not nobody. One in particular. One. Breathe. Burn the house. You. Burned the house. You burned your mind. Closed the door and tossed a torch. Fact. It burned. You burned. He...

He must have burned.

Breathe. Control. The sweat has made you start shivering. Breathe. He. He. No. No. Breathe. Facts. You are alive. You are sane. You are in control. Are you— No. You [b]are[/b] in control. Breathe. Is this— No. This is real. Fact?

Your eyes snap open, watching the floor, low angle, concrete walls, barred door. Wrong. You close your eyes again. The walls should be padded. Too valuable to bash your brains out. Brain. That. Yes. That. That. That. That. Breathe. Control. The walls should be padded. The floor should be rubber. There should be no bars, just a piece of honeycomb plastic in the wall, a door, but seethrough and soft. No place to bash your brains out. No bars to fasten the rope to. No clothes. No. Paper. Too soft. They don't want to [b]see[/b] you.

They didn't. Not now. Past. Not present. Past. But this is the present.

Concrete. Walls. Bars. The wrong color of light. You have clothes. Oh they are [i]amateurs[/i].

You smile. It hurts. It feels real. Breathe. You don't know who you are, but you know you're not an amateur. You did this for a reason, and someone took advantage of it. Trapped you here. All you need to do is to break out and—

No. Wait. Breathe. Control. This feels. No. This is. Wrong. All you need to do is open the door and it is [b]wrong[/b].

Fact. Don't open the door. Fine. You can work with that. Breathe.

You are locked in. For a reason.

Fact. Fact?

Questions are dangerous. They lead to answers. They lead to knowledge. Knowledge is dangerous. For you in particular. They don't want you to know. No. What if that is not a fact. A wrong fact. What if you don't want you to know.

Breathe. Stop twitching. Don't chip a tooth. This is why rubber is better.

You don't want you to know. But you don't know what you don't want you to know. You took the things that could make you understand.

$!{swear}.

Wait. That word is [i]yours.[/i] Yours. You picked it. A choice. Yes. Choice.

Fact. You are you. Still you. There is a tentative terror at that thought. There are ways that you could not be you. Could be something else. Someone else. Fact. That is terrifying. Fact.

Fact. Nobody tells you the truth. Fact. You don't tell yourself the truth. Fact. You are hiding the truth from yourself for a reason.

Breathe. The floor is concrete. Your skin is bruised. Is this real or remembered. Not a question. A statement. This could be real or remembered. You could be real or remembered. Constructed. Breathe.

Fact. You are not real.

You wait for your heart to slow down. Fact. It would not change anything. Fact. You are more real than anybody else because you are you. These are your thoughts. These are your fears. Fears. Fears. Yes. This is a fear. A cell. Captive. Hurt. This is a fear. Not knowing who you are. This is a fear. Memories jumbled. Mixed up. This is a fear. You are not you you are not you you are not you you—

You sit up.

You open your eyes.

The cell around you is just small enough for you to lie down comfortably. Fact. Could be worse. Have been worse. No bed. A drain. Made to be hosed down. The bars are theatrical. Fact. Bars are symbolic. Bars are not real.

You do not test that.

The lights are florescent. Bad. Memories. Fact. Could be worse. A slow flicker. A hum of electricity. These are steady. Unimportant. There to let you see. Fact. They want you to see. Fact. They can't stop you from seeing.

So you look around.

There is a corridor outside. A door on each end. A camera on the wall opposite your cell. It is watching you. Fact. Smile for the camera. Fact. You were never good at that.

They were afraid of you.

Fear. This is a fear. A fear to keep you here. In the past. In the memories. In forgetfulness. Fine. You are afraid. Fact. You've been afraid your entire life. Never let that stop you. Not before. Not now. But. Fact. The fear of opening the door feels different. You need to open the door to get out.

Don't you want to get out?

A question. You asked it. No. It was asked. So you must have asked it. Fact. You do want to get out so you get to your feet. No headrush. Fact. This might not be entirely real. Fact. It feels real. Your knuckles are covered with clotted blood. Yours. And not. You look down on them. Your hands. Are your hands. Familiar. Would you know if they were not. Would it matter. Fact. It would not.

So you open the door.

Left. Right. More doors. You pick left. That door is harder to open. Stuck. Fact. It has not been opened in a long time. Fact. You know the right one would have felt the same. Two doors down. Seven to go.

What?

Breathe. Control. Focus. Breathe. The second door is open and the corridor is dark. Fear. Things happen in the dark. But things happen in the light too. Are you. Are. Walking towards something. You are. Fact. Walking towards something. Someone. Someone did. Someone did. Did someone leave you here? Did someone put you here? Did you leave someone behind?

Wait. Questions. You asked them. This was you.

Was this you?

You fall to your knees in the corridor. At the far end you can see a closed door. Light seeping underneath. A thin strip. Light. There is nothing behind you. Just the faint metallic scrape of cables. Fact. Cables. Fact. They connect to you. Fact. They were always there. Fact. That is wrong. Fact. Fact. You. You can't. No. No. Breathe.

A door. On your knees like a supplicant. No handle. No lock. A crack underneath. Enough for nails. Fingertips. Sharp. Metal. Blood. Just. Just. Slowly. Pry it open. Bit by bit. Are there. Are there doors open? From the other side? Is. Is someone coming for you? Is someone trying to help you? Questions. Not facts. Is someone coming to harm you?

Answer unclear, ask again later.

Fact. You are afraid. Fact. You have your fingers around the edge of the door. Fact. You could pull it open. Fact. What if. What if. What if.

What if someone is standing out there.

What if it's you.

What if you are ruining all your plans.

What if this was your plan all along.

Questions. Answers. Facts.

No. Wrong. Thoughts. All it is. Questions. Answers. Facts. All in your head. You are [i]all[i] in your head. Breathe. Focus. Control.

You have to get out of here.