You wake up to your phone alarm blaring. The ringing sounds like its coming from underwater— deep, distorted, and muted. It reverberates in your head, pulsing along to a headache you’re only now noticing.

“Turn that shit off,” an unfamiliar voice grumbles from beside you. You quickly come to several realizations when your eyes snap open.

One, you aren’t alone. There’s a man asleep next to you. He’s got dark hair and scars running all over his body. His skin looks like it’s held together by staples and stitches, stretched out over lean muscle. His name escapes you for the moment… maybe something with a D?

Two, you’re not in your bed. You’re not even in your room. In the dim morning light, you can just barely make out the trappings of a small studio apartment. The bed you’re in is pushed to one wall, a TV is directly opposite. There’s clothes strewn around, but for the most part it looks well-kept, if not empty. You begin to register the smell of sweat and booze fill the air before you come to your third realization—

You don’t remember how you got here.