A flickering fluorescent light cut through the darkness, slowly pulling him awake. Blinking, his mind flooded with unanswered questions.

Where am I? WHO am I?

Heart pounding, he sat up on the ragged bed and scanned the dim, windowless room for anything familiar. Nothing. Just bare walls, the bed, and a pile of dirty clothes in the corner.

The harsh flickering from the ceiling light continued as he ran a shaking hand over his face. He told himself to think. What's the last thing I remember? Flashing lights... speeding... sirens... a crash? Squeezing his eyes shut, he grasped at fractured memories that slipped away like smoke. An accident... I must have been in an accident.

Looking down under a blanket that covered his body, he realised he was wearing only a thin hospital gown. His clothes were gone.

His hands ran along his unbruised arms and chest, feeling for injuries. Instead, he felt healthy, energised even. Raising a hand to his forehead revealed no bandage, not even a bump.

Cautiously moving his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet met the cold concrete floor. No pain or dizziness. Standing up, he felt strong and alert.

Inching around the small room, he realised his body moved smoothly, no stiffness or aches. It was as if he was in peak physical condition. But with no memory of who he was or how he got here, his perfect health only added to his confusion and fear.

The gaping holes in his mind sent panic rising in his chest. He gripped the fraying blanket tight, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. I'm alive. I'm not injured. I just need to figure out who I am and why I'm here.

He glanced around the room again, searching for any clue to his identity. As he scanned the bare walls, a flashing symbol appeared in the corner of his vision. He blinked, trying to clear it from his sight. But the glowing letter remained, hovering at the edge of his view.

What is that? He wondered. Why can't I make it disappear?

He focused his thoughts, wishing his vision would clear. To his surprise, it blinked out, his eyesight clearing. But a nagging feeling told him the glowing letter had meaning.

Even though the room was empty, he wrapped the blanket around his waist before heading to the pile of clothes in the corner. As he crouched down and reached for them, something gave him pause. The clothes weren't just filthy, but stained. A familiar metallic scent greeted him. Though he didn't know how, he recognised that smell - blood.

Straightening up, he stepped back from the soiled pile. Unease crept through him as he noticed the single door in the room. Wherever he was, those bloodstained clothes didn't bode well.

Cautiously, he crept barefoot across the cold floor toward the door. A sense of unease told him even the soft sound of his footsteps was too loud in the tomb-like silence.

Reaching the door, he gripped the metal handle, cringing as it creaked. Bracing himself, he gently eased it down and cracked open the heavy door an inch.

He held his breath, peering through the slim gap. The hallway beyond was dim, the only light coming from a flickering bulb partway down. Listening, he heard nothing but the whoosh of air through vents. Wherever this place was, it seemed deserted.

Taking a deep breath, he dragged the heavy door open wider and stepped out into the hallway. The concrete floor was icy under his bare feet as he crept forward.

Glancing around the dim, deserted corridor, he noticed old peeling signs on the faded green walls with room numbers and departments listed. One read "Radiology - B1 Level" in chipped black lettering.

He looked at the faded hospital crest on top of the sign. The words Guys and St Thomas were barely legible. The place felt abandoned, like no one had been here in years, but that made no sense, for St Thomas’s was a modern hospital in London. He shook his head at the sudden fount of knowledge.

He knew more about that hospital than he did his own self.

Seeing a faded sign pointing to the stairs on the peeling green wall, he headed in that direction. A faint wind moaned down the empty corridor, sending a chill across his skin. He clutched his arms, rubbing away the goosebumps that prickled along them.

Nothing about what was happening was making sense to him.

Lost in thought, he stumbled, as his vision was overlaid with translucent boxes and menus popping up in his sight. He blinked hard, but the floating screens remained.

“What the hell…” he muttered, waving a hand, trying to dismiss the images hovering in his vision. But the translucent boxes remained, overlaid on top of the gloomy hospital hallway.

As he stared forward, a menu titled "Quests" highlighted itself in his periphery. He shifted his focus, and it snapped into central view, displaying a new box. There was one line of text inside.

“This is impossible.” He told himself as he read the one quest in the box.

Doctor’s Orders.

Make it out of the hospital alive.

Exp 500

Make it out alive? Exp 500? What is going on? He thought to himself, as the quest box highlighted gold. Is this some sort of game? Am I hallucinating?

He froze as a shrill screech echoed down the dim corridor. At the far end, a massive diseased rat glared at him, yellow fangs bared. It was the size of a small dog, with matted brown fur and a long naked tail. One of its eyes was a clouded white, while the other shone with feral hunger.

Before he could react, the rodent reared up on its hind legs, nearly three feet tall. Matted fur bristled along its hunched back as it sniffed the air with twitching whiskers. Oily black claws scraped the floor as it shifted on its feet, preparing to charge.

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The interface blocking his vision faded away, but some writing flashed above the rat:

Diseased Sewer Rat

Level 5

Health 73/100

He blinked in disbelief. A red health bar had appeared underneath the text, about three-quarters full. The rat dropped down and barrelled towards him.

“Shit!” He squeaked, before sprinting for the nearest door halfway down the corridor from the rat. His gown flapped as he reached the door, slamming it open with his shoulder. Turning around, he tried to push it closed, but the damn thing had a closing delay. The heavy wooden door seemed to take forever to swing shut, as he leaned against it with all his weight.

Just as the gap narrowed, the rat shoved its head through, snapping and gnashing rabidly at him. He recoiled from the snarling teeth as spittle flew, desperately shoving the door with his shoulders.

With a final heave, the door creaked closed, clamping down on the rat’s neck. The rodent thrashed and clawed manically, its head still halfway in the room, before pulling back.

“Bloody fire-doors,” he said, panting with exertion, as he lay slumping on the floor holding the door shut with his whole body. The rat screeched and scratched from the corridor outside, but the door held firm.

As he lay there catching his breath, motion sensors triggered bright fluorescent lights, revealing the room he had barged into. Rows of lockers and benches filled the space. Realisation dawned on him - it was some kind of staff locker room. But he could still hear frenzied scratches and scurrying from the hallway outside.

He waited, listening for a long thirty seconds as his heart pounded. The rat was still out there, and that door wouldn't hold it forever.

He jumped to his feet, adrenaline pumping through him. He had to barricade the entrance. Spotting a row of metal lockers, he rushed over and wrapped his arms around one. To his surprise, he was able to drag the heavy locker across the floor, leaving scrape marks on the cheap floor lining all hospitals seemed to have.

With a grunt, he pushed it up against the rattling door just as the rat barged into it again, springing the door open a foot. The locker slammed into the opening, trapping the rodent's snout. Leaping forward, he threw his weight against the locker, pinning the rat temporarily.

Its snarls grew frenzied as it thrashed, claws raking the metal.

Turning back, he grabbed another locker and stacked it on top. The rodent's snout was crushed with a sickening crunch before it pulled back with a wail.

Breathing hard, he piled a third and fourth locker in front of the entrance, creating a makeshift barricade. The rat hissed and scratched manically at the now shut again door, but couldn't get through. For now, he was secure inside the locker room. A message popped into his vision.

Strength increased by 1.

Your strength grows in times of crisis.

Ok, ok. You got this. He told himself, as he read the notification. He had played plenty of games before, so while he didn’t quite understand what was happening, it was not a new concept for him. So, if I’ve got quests to do, and I just got a strength increase, that must mean I have stats? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a new interface screen popped up, showing:

Status Screen Name Robert "Bobby" Jones Race Human Age 29 Level 1 Class Undefined Title None Effects Lucky Seven - open for more details. Health 100/100 Health Regen Moderate Stamina 100/100 Stamina Regen Moderate Mana 15/15 Mana Regen Slow Attributes Strength 8 Perception 5 Constitution 7 Intelligence 6 Agility 8 Willpower 9 Charisma 4 Luck 5*

"Robert 'Bobby' Jones," he murmured. The name sounded familiar, like a vague memory surfacing through fog.

"That's... that's me," he realised. "I'm Bobby."

The other stats on the screen felt strangely correct as well. His age, attributes, even his mediocre charisma score - it all aligned with the hazy sense of self he was rediscovering.

"I can't remember anything else," Bobby said, rubbing his temple. "But this has to be who I am." He stared at his name, searing it into his mind. The letters triggered a deep recognition, like waking up from a dreamless sleep.

Bobby shook himself alert. He could mull over his identity later - for now, survival came first. But at least he had reclaimed his name, the most basic part of who he was.

"Alright Bobby," he steeled himself. "Let's find some bloody clothes and get the hell out of here." More scratching noises from behind the barricaded door reminded him he needed to be quick.

Moving quickly, Bobby rummaged through the unlocked lockers. Most were closed, and with the ominous scratching sounds from the hallway, he didn't have time to pry open the locked ones. In his frenzied search, he found a pair of jeans and a mostly clean t-shirt in his size, along with socks. No shoes, however - only a pair of slightly small crocs.

"Not exactly my style, but they'll do," he muttered to himself as he pulled them on. The plastic clogs were tight, but better than running around barefoot.

In another locker, Bobby found a worn backpack. He emptied it out, turning the bag upside down and shaking out the useless contents onto the floor.

This will come in handy, he thought, brushing off the now-empty pack. The bag looked well used but was sturdy enough, with two zippered compartments and padded shoulder straps.

Bobby swung it over his shoulders and tightened the straps until it was snug against his back. He knew he might need both hands free if he encountered more dangers, like the monstrous rat. Thinking of the rat, he looked around for something he could use as a weapon.

At the back of the locker room, Bobby spotted a small cleaner’s cupboard. Inside, he found shelves stacked with rolls of blue paper towels and a red Henry Hoover curled up in the corner.

I don’t think I’ll be needing that, but some blue roll wouldn’t hurt. He thought, grabbing a roll off the shelf. He unzipped the main compartment of his new backpack and stuffed the paper towels inside.. His luck was with him, it seemed, as a small hammer caught his eye tucked away in the cupboard's corner. It appeared a random tool left behind, likely stashed here rather than taken back to the maintenance workers.

He hefted the small hammer in his hand. As a weapon, it felt inadequate compared to the monstrous rat outside, but it was better than nothing. Prepared as best he could be, Bobby looked back at the barricaded door.

Now how the hell am I gonna get out of here?