My eyes opened, although there was nothing that existed ahead of me to note. The ceiling seemed immeasurable; it extended to as far as I could conceive. My whole body felt numb, clenching my own fists never seemed harder. I stood up slowly, grasping to the metal framed bed that I laid on. I couldn’t remember anything, not even my own name. My vision became more distinct; I took a thorough look around the cramped room, studying ever detail. Syringes, orange tablets, and sharp pieces of glass scattered below my feet. I had to take careful steps. Debris would meet and greet the light rays that shine from the small cracks in the shoddy painted green wall. In the darkest corner of the room, there sat a tinted oval mirror on top of an oak wood cabinet, I picked it up lightly and examined my face. My face were exposed with crimson colored scars, it must have been recent, even though I cannot evoke any evidence of such tragic. It felt rough, bumpy, and severely bruised. In a sudden, the door on the opposite side of the room cracked open and slammed on the cruel cement floor. By my instincts, I crawled down and hurled into a ball. A tall, dark figure wearing a black ski mask rushed in. “He’s in here! I found him!” the man with a deep-toned voice declared. Gun shots were heard beyond the room. Adrenaline surged throughout my veins. Loud outbursts and screams echoed across the building. The pandemonium was too much for me to handle. “Do you remember what you did, Patrick Dillons?” The man grunted, holding an emotionless gun onto my forehead. My legs quivered in anxiety. “This is the price you have to pay, for this war, for the sake of my people,” He cried. I couldn’t process all of this at once, I could not recall of any of this. The man held a gun tightly with both of his hands. I closed my eyes before he could pull the trigger.