The moment his eyes snapped open, he felt it. Too much energy. Too much air. His breath came in fast and harsh—his chest rising like he’d just escaped drowning.
He looked down. Hospital gown. Tubes. Needles. Wires.
“What the f*ck is this?” he growled, ripping at the IV in his arm.
The monitor shrieked with rising heart rate before his hand slammed into it, shattering the screen in a blink.
“I’m not staying here—” he barked, swinging his legs off the bed. His bare feet hit the cold floor, and with one yank, the wires were gone.
He stormed toward the door.
Locked.
“Open this goddamn door!” He pounded his fist once—twice—before his hand smashed straight through the doorknob, metal bending under unnatural strength.
Breathing heavy. Heart thundering. Something was wrong. His body felt like it could tear through the wall, but his mind—his mind was blank.
And then the door clicked open.
A woman stepped in.
She froze when she saw him—sweat-soaked, chest heaving, surrounded by broken machines.
She looked young. Almost his age. But the expression on her face wasn’t relief. It was tension. Fear.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped. His golden eyes locked on her.
No answer.
“Why are you here?!” His voice cracked with something deeper than rage. Confusion.
Still silence.
His fists clenched.
“Tell me who I am—! F*cking say something because I don’t remember anything!”
He turned, throwing a stool against the wall. It cracked open, splinters flying.
“You’re just standing there like I’m supposed to know you!” He stepped toward her, aggressive—but not quite attacking. Unstable.