Waking up had been a familiar experience, too familiar, really. Not even the scars were surprising, though they were so much less clean than the others that already crossed his body, almost lurid, compared to that fine web. He didn't know how he'd gotten here--this wasn't like the other times--but he did know he couldn't stay. Other people were waking up around him, but he couldn't trust them, not here, not someplace like this, so crude it would have disgusted his old doctors.

He tied the sheet around himself and got up. It hurt, but pain was nothing new, and he knew just how to ignore it. What he needed now way a way out, because he couldn't stay here. And he needed a weapon, but that problem solved itself a few moments later in the form of a tray full of bloody instruments. He took a scalpel and wiped it clean on the sheet, and headed off in single-minded pursuit of an exit. And if he found someone along the way who looked like they were in charge, well. He'd be getting some answers, one way or another.