Beneath the veil of unconsciousness, Evander found himself adrift, the ethereal whispers of an unknown world slowly beckoning him towards wakefulness. His mind, like a startled bird, fluttered uncertainly at the edge of awareness, tethered to the abyss by the tenuous thread of confusion. He felt his body quivering, recoiling from the viscous heaviness that clung to it. Each nerve ending fizzled as if a sluggish current of electricity were gradually returning to its course.

Slowly, the world began to assert its presence. Subtle sounds tiptoed into his consciousness - the distant hum of an unidentifiable machinery, the faint rustle of what sounded like synthetic fabric against a hard surface, and the indistinguishable echo of movement. An unfamiliar, sterile scent invaded his senses, shrouding the residual musk of battle and earthy undertones he was so used to. As awareness crept over him, Evander felt the disorienting sway of sleep sickness wrestling to hold him in its grip. Where am I?

He blinked, his eyelashes brushing against the cool air as his heavy eyelids creaked open. The sight that greeted him was an expanse of glaring white stretching endlessly above him. It was an immaculate ceiling, almost surgical in its starkness, its sheen hinting at an artificial quality that made him squint. His eyes, adjusting to the sudden onslaught of light, detected a faint, almost imperceptible flicker. It's... almost like a screen.

With a mechanical flicker that lasted only a fraction of a second, the ceiling transformed. The stark white canvas dissolved, replaced by a mesmerizing vista of open skies. Pillowy tufts of clouds drifted lazily, their stark whiteness contrasting vividly against the azure backdrop. The illusion of depth and the gentle ebb of the clouds were unnervingly realistic, as though the ceiling had been peeled back to reveal the sky itself. What is this place?

His thoughts raced, turning back to the last memories etched into his mind. The small figure of a girl, her terror-stricken eyes locked with his. The monstrous roar of oncoming danger, the gut-churning adrenaline that had driven him forward. The frenzied rush of saving her from impending doom, the blinding lights, and then... darkness. The images swirled in his mind, a disorienting vortex of confusion, questions, and fear.

Was that real? Or had it been a dream? He probed the recesses of his memory, attempting to decipher reality from illusion. He remembered the feeling of the girl's small, trembling body as he had thrown her to safety, the intense glare of the lights. Yet, the sterile scent of the room, the bizarre ceiling, and the absence of any familiar object or sound unnerved him. It was as if he had been plucked from his world and deposited in an alien dimension. What happened to me? Where am I?

Evander lay there, awash in a sea of uncertainty. He was trapped in a strange world, with no recollection of how he arrived there, and only fragments of his last moments in the old one. Yet, despite the confusion and disorientation, one thought pulsed clear and steady through the fog in his mind, a beacon in the stormy sea of his predicament - I must find out what's going on.

Evander cautiously lifted his head, his muscles protesting as they flexed against the unfamiliarity of rest. His vision wobbled for a moment before finally steadying, allowing him to take in his surroundings. He found himself sprawled on an invitingly plush bed, seemingly large enough to comfortably fit three of him. An elegant cerulean sheet lazily draped across his body, its fabric cool and soft against his skin. I don't remember ever being this comfortable.

He marveled at the room's architecture. From his resting place, the room spread out expansively, like an expanse of unexplored territory. It was an elegant blend of austere functionality and luxurious comfort. He noticed the room's temperature - a seemingly perfect balance, neither too chilly nor uncomfortably warm. It was as though the room itself was attuned to his needs, an unseen hand manipulating the environment to maximize his comfort.

His eyes wandered across the room, eventually landing on a cozy nook nestled at the far end. Several couches, their plush cushions almost beckoning him, were arranged in an intimate semi-circle. Their design was both modern and inviting, their earth-toned upholstery hinting at an owner who valued both style and comfort.

Beyond the couches, a doorway stood ajar, offering a glimpse into what appeared to be a sprawling wardrobe. It promised a plethora of clothing options, a fashionista's paradise.

His attention was drawn back to the central area, where a coffee table lay scattered with a disarray of dirty dishes. Stains of forgotten meals splayed across them like abstract art, their origins as mysterious as his current circumstances. Alongside the dishes, a few sleek tablets lay dormant, their screens as dark and inscrutable as his understanding of this place.

Tucked away in one corner was a futuristic workspace that resembled something out of a science fiction movie. The computer desk was spacious and filled with foreign gadgetry. A peculiar-looking keyboard, its design alien yet oddly intuitive, sprawled across the surface. Beside it sat a three-dimensional display, its matrix currently dormant, hinting at cutting-edge technology and boundless possibilities.

As he surveyed his surroundings, Evander felt an undercurrent of unease bubbling beneath his surface fascination. His memory was an unreliable kaleidoscope of images - some vivid, others fading. The grandeur of the room was a stark contrast to his past, a symbol of the new reality he was thrust into.

Evander's eyes skated across the room's expansive canvas, finally halting at a peculiar section of the wall. An anomalous rectangle set against the seamless expanse, it bore an uncanny resemblance to a door. It had the appearance of a screen, distinct and deliberately separate from the rest of the wall.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Hopefully, that’s an exit?

A surge of adrenaline fueled his curiosity. His instinct as a warrior, honed by years of survival, prompted him to explore his surroundings. He pushed himself up, his hands sinking into the plush bedding. But as he attempted to shift his weight onto his limbs, he was struck by a sense of unfamiliar frailty. His body, once a powerful vessel honed by years of rigorous training, now felt alien and weak. His limbs felt insubstantial, like wisps of smoke attempting to support a body of steel.

The thick carpet cushioned his bare feet as he swung his legs over the bed. The sensation of the fibers, as soft as a field of freshly bloomed cotton, was starkly contrasted by the vulnerability coursing through his body. His first step was a harsh encounter with reality; his legs buckled under his weight, and he barely managed to keep himself from crumpling onto the carpeted floor. His heart hammered against his chest, each beat echoing the terrifying novelty of his situation.

Panic threaded its way into his consciousness, winding its icy tendrils around his thoughts. This is wrong...so wrong. I've never felt this weak. The feeling of his strength betraying him was as foreign as the room he found himself in. His life as a warrior had been defined by power, resilience, and unwavering control over his body. And now, he felt as vulnerable as a newborn.

In the midst of his crisis, a single thought pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. I need to see what's wrong with me. With that resolution echoing in his mind, he navigated his way around the room, each movement measured and cautious, each step a small victory against the relentless pull of his newfound weakness.

After what felt like an eternity of uneasy exploration, Evander's eyes caught the glint of something reflective near the entrance to the sprawling wardrobe. It wasn't a mirror - not quite. It was a large, sleek surface, like polished obsidian, studded with an array of cryptic symbols that seemed to shimmer beneath the surface. The symbols suggested some advanced functionality, a hybrid of reflection and computation.

Steeling himself, Evander approached the mirror, each step feeling more confident than the last. As his image came into focus, he found himself taken aback by the sight that greeted him. His breath hitched, a gasp escaping his lips before he could stop it.

Reflected back was a young man on the cusp of his 18th year. But the image was a stark contrast to the strength and vitality that once defined him. His once chiseled physique was now thin and wiry, his muscles diminished from their former glory. The definition in his body had faded, leaving behind a lean frame that showcased the harsh reality of his situation. His ribs jutted out alarmingly against his skin, a cruel testament to his apparent malnutrition.

I look like a scarecrow.

And yet, despite his alarming appearance, there was an undeniable allure about him. His face was a masterpiece of Mediterranean features - high cheekbones, a strong jawline, a straight nose, and full lips. His complexion was a warm olive, the kind that hinted at sun-kissed skin, even under the sterile light of the room.

His hair, unusually light-colored for his ethnic origins, was a sea of soft waves cascading down to his shoulders. The strands were a mesmerizing blend of gold and silver, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. It was the kind of hair color that would've looked out of place on most, but on Evander, it somehow seemed fitting, even striking.

His eyes were perhaps his most captivating feature. Bright and clear, they were a stunning shade of blue that rivaled the depth and brilliance of a summer sky. Framed by thick, dark lashes, they held an intensity that could unsettle the most steadfast of gazes.

The only article of clothing he wore was a pair of white-blue shorts, hugging his lean waist and ending just above his knobby knees. It was a simple garment, but on him, it added an element of vulnerability, of bareness that only highlighted his current state.

Looking at his reflection, Evander could hardly reconcile the frail figure before him with his past self. His hands rose to touch the glass, almost expecting it to ripple and reveal the warrior he had once been. But the reflection remained steadfast, a silent reminder of his new reality. His heart clenched with a myriad of emotions - disbelief, fear, frustration, but above all, determination. I won't remain this way. I can't. His bright blue eyes hardened with resolve, promising a battle that was yet to come.

Evander's heart pounded in his chest, a dissonant rhythm that matched the frenzied thoughts racing through his mind. The mirror image of his frail body had cast a long, ominous shadow over his spirits, and he found himself grappling with a wave of unease. I need to get a handle on this situation.

He shot a glance at the peculiar door-shaped screen, knowing that it likely held answers. His warrior instincts, honed over years of survival in precarious situations, itched to explore, to gather information and strategize. But to venture into the unknown without adequate attire seemed imprudent, even foolish.

His mind flickered back to the open wardrobe. It was probably packed with garments, he surmised, its glimpse from the bed indicating a treasure trove of clothing. With newfound determination, he padded across the carpeted expanse, each step a testament to his enduring resilience despite his weakened state.

The inside of the wardrobe was a wonder. Row after row of clothing hung neatly, their diverse colors and patterns a visual feast. He had to admit, the space was impressively organized. But as he rifled through the items, his brows knit together in confusion.

Most of the garments were unmistakably male, yet their design was so...alien. The cuts, the styles, the fabrics - they seemed to be the product of a mind that understood the basic concept of 'men's clothing' but interpreted it through an otherworldly lens.

There were pants that hung loose in some places and clung tight in others. Shirts had asymmetrical collars and misplaced pockets. A number of outfits boasted fabric that shimmered and changed colors in the light. Some pieces even felt like they were alive, shifting and adjusting at his touch. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

He spent several moments simply staring, his hand hovering over the uncanny collection. The challenge wasn't finding a piece that fit; rather, it was finding one that wasn't too outlandish to his conventional sensibilities.

After a long scrutiny, he chose a pair of pants and a shirt that looked the least strange. They were close enough to what he was used to, albeit with a few unconventional quirks. The pants were a deep navy, almost black, and the shirt a muted grey. The fabric of both was soft, lightweight, and surprisingly comfortable.

As he slipped into them, he noticed the clothing seemed to adjust to his body, molding itself to fit him imperfectly, which was strange as he thought it would be the opposite as if they were high tech should they not be fitting him perfectly. It was a far cry from his traditional attire, but it felt good against his skin, offering a sense of normalcy in the sea of unfamiliarity.

Clothed and feeling a bit more prepared, Evander cast one final glance at his reflection. Despite the weakened state of his body and the strangeness of his attire, he couldn't help but feel a surge of determination.