When he came to, he didn’t know how much time had passed, but doing his best surprised expression repeatedly allowed him to eventually pry his eyes open. Awe suggested the exercise as Disgust mocked him for it. Regardless, he hoped it would answer his questions and put him at ease.

But it didn’t. In the beginning, there was only darkness. And it was so very dark.

He blinked his eyes owlishly into the void. Peeling them open had been one the more revolting feelings he’d experienced, and he was less than pleased to see the effort go unrewarded. He turned to a different sense, and tried to listen for sounds of life.

It was quiet.

He turned his head slowly side to side. Is this even real life? Or is this just the power of drugs? It didn’t matter, he mentally shook his head and dismissed his thoughts. He gazed into the darkness trying to ignore how it felt like it gazed back at him.

It was empty. Large. Incredibly large. Jordan’s initial thought was that he was in a cavern, but the presence of a bed and the murderously warm, fluffy comforter persuaded him otherwise. He was still warm. Too warm. Why wasn’t that bothering him more? He needed to get that damn comforter off before it killed him!

He frowned as he fought the covers again. He could detect the movement, relying on his peripheral vision to track the motion even in such darkness. He almost regretted it.

He thought his body-awareness had been short-circuiting before, but now it was clear that it was completely and utterly busted. He lifted a hand up under the blanket and in front of him he could feel the covers rise. But his hand? His mind was telling him it was near half a foot past where he could make it out. Like his whole body was shifted down and over from where he actually was.

It didn’t make sense, but it was dark, and he was still suffering from whatever drug induced dysphoria the doctors had inflicted him with. He’d have to ignore the part of his mind screaming about how not okay that was. Which feeling was it anyway?

Hmm, it looks like it’s…Vigilance. Odd. Vigilance had been the voice of reason before, so what was going on? Oh, something in his mind was goading his feelings. Fighting them all. An animal in his brain? It was… it didn’t matter. He was sick, and in a cathedral of a hospital. Right?

He didn’t hear any machines though. Shouldn’t there be machines? Blinking lights? He could move his hands without anything pulling, so he didn’t have an IV attached. Wasn’t that standard? Without one, he could understand why he was so thirsty.

Fear again, shouting from a huddled part of his mind. It’s organ harvesters! You’re not in a hospital, this is a warehouse! They’re coming. They’re going to carve you up! RUN!

Jordan’s heart thudded maddeningly in his chest at that, the overcharged organ was beating so hard it hurt. This didn’t make sense, why would he be awake if he was a victim?

Vigilance—sounding strained?—actually supported Fear in this case. Jordan was a big fellow, and his kidnappers must not have given him the correct dose. Amateurs perhaps? Disgust, not bothering with whatever was happening to the others, countered.

What was the point of the comforter? Why wasn’t he strapped to a cold metal table waiting in a soon to be morgue for the inevitable? Had he been carved up or was that coming at any moment? No one wanted him, so why entertain that fantasy? Disgust didn’t pull punches, it seemed.

Awe retorted. It was too dark—where were the lights from the machines? What hospital would be completely, and utterly dark? Fear didn’t like that. Everyone was so confused. What was going on?

Joy tried to help, reminding him that he was drawing this scenario from movies. It didn’t help, and Disgust pressed the issue. Was he going to claim to know how organ harvesters worked because of a show he saw decades ago? Jordan knew nothing about its realities, its intricacies, its—

Love pleaded a ceasefire between conflicting emotions. Jordan was in a strange place with little to no clues to go on. It was what was happening, right now. He needed to stop listening to Fear and Disgust and focus on what he knew. Determine the danger, if any, and act appropriately!

Vigilance approved. Disgust eyed everyone reproachfully. What was that noise? Was someone fighting? Where had that animal come from? Why did it have tenta—

Jordan shook his head as quickly as he could. It still took longer than he liked, but he needed to push himself. He knew he had been drugged, whether it was for good reasons or bad was still up in the air.

But if whoever had drugged him was even remotely competent, someone would be by to check up on him. He didn’t know how much time he had—so he needed to act on this fast if it was the bad kind of drugs. If it was good, he lost nothing trying to figure it out.

Jordan attempted to throw off the covers once more with his newfound motivation, but it still didn't work. So he took a different approach and squirmed experimentally. The covers were catching on both sides of him.

To his right, it felt like there was something on the bed with him, holding the covers down. He couldn’t make out the shape, but there was a lot of it. Was he in bed with someone? To his left, the covers were stuck under him. Like he had been… tucked in?

Tucked… in? What the flying fuck!?

Stranger's bed? Check. Comforter? Check. Mysterious shape next to self? Check. None of those facts worked with the idea of either hospital or organ thieves, but the idea that he was sharing a bed with someone else was so unexpected, so unlikely, so out of this world he had literally dismissed the scenario after barely a moment's consideration!

Jordan sniffed experimentally, partially checking for toast to see if he’d had a stroke. While there was an odd sterility in the air, it was overpowered by a permeating floral scent filling... the girl’s room. No man’s room would smell like this, Jordan was certain of that. And now—it was so damn obvious!

He associated uncomfortable, frilly accoutrements like this comforter with women. And that kind of smell? No man’s room would ever have it because it came from all the products girls used on themselves. A side effect of the self-torture such vain pursuits of beauty demanded.

In his experience, ladies were rarely as practical as men. His experience was rather limited though, so really, what did he know? Disgust again. Jordan didn’t appreciate how rude that feeling was.

His mind hesitated. What was the next step? He could barely lift his arms, let alone move them in a useful manner. Was he going to walk out of here? Was he stupid? At best, all he’d be able to accomplish was a worm crawl on the ground. How was that going to be any better? The worm crawl of shame?

But what else was he going to do? Wait here?

Jordan really, really didn’t want to deal with the consequences of the morning after. It wasn’t likely he’d have been targeted by any woman more attractive than he was, especially judging the size of the shape next to him. That meant escaping the whale that he had probably gone for to be a good wingman.

But whom had he been a wingman for? He was still frustrated he couldn’t remember anything useful. It was all just so out of the blue. No—red! Wait, red? Vigilance was shouting.

A small gleam caught his eye and he turned to his left. It was dark enough that the barest hint of silhouettes were so faint he couldn’t tell if it was just his imagination desperately painting shapes in his mind. But he stared off into that void. He waited… and was rewarded.

There it is again! A tiny, barely noticeable glint, but in the darkness the reddish twinkling could be made out. He waited. Several long moments passed by. It happened again. He was staring at its source now. Every time it flashed, there was an even fainter sheen below it. A reflective surface? Like a phone’s screen!

Jordan sighed massively and relaxed. There was a phone next to him—iIt must have been blinking due to a notification or some such. It was odd how dim it was, but he could figure that out later. The phone's presence confirmed many things for him.

He had definitely given into a poor choice. He must have been talked into a date, or been targeted by a desperate chick and here he was. Once he checked his phone, he could make a plan. Figure out where he was, call an Uber, and get out before he was caught up in something.

This situation didn’t explain the drugs though.

He paused. Then, he scowled. Either someone had tried to drug his date, or his date had drugged him. Neither one was acceptable. In the first case, there was no situation in which he’d be desperate enough to do something so awful, if he really wanted to get his rocks off he’d buy a damn sex doll or get an escort.

Besides, even the mere insinuation that something untoward had happened could cost a man everything. Granted, Jordan didn’t have much to lose, but he wasn’t going to risk prison! Or social media outrage at least.

And if she had drugged him?

…

He didn’t like that thought. On one hand, he flat out refused to believe it. Why would she? Why would anyone? Outside of organ harvesters, it wasn’t going to happen. You couldn’t date-rape men, that was ridiculous!

What was the saying? Right—you can’t force the willing. Where had he heard that anyway?

Probably made it up you sexist little asshole.

Disgust? What are you doing!? Are you trying to influence him?

Look at what the fucker is thinking, Vigilance! Why are we bothering?

Stop pushing at him then! You’re the one making things worse, and we’ve got a situation here, gosh dangit. We’re in danger!

But... he wasn’t willing. There was no situation he could think of where he’d have said yes to a date. He didn’t want some damn leech in his life right now! But wouldn’t that make it…? No! He was wrong. Confused. He...

Would they have really drugged him after guilting him to go out? But if the stranger hadn’t drugged him on purpose, then someone must have spiked their drink and it got him instead. Would he be accused of attempting to drug her?

Fuck-balls… this meant he needed to be careful getting out of the situation. If the person next to him saw him drooling and flailing about? There’d be questions. He needed to get out, and he needed to be quiet. He would not be accused of drugging a damn whale!

Jordan frowned as he looked over at what he hoped was his phone. Using his peripheral vision and the gleam of the light, he could tell there was a nightstand next to the bed. It looked like the phone may have been set on a book?

Regardless, he was fairly confident he’d be able to reach it. Given the state of his limbs, it may take a few tries, but he was determined. Hopefully the Moby-bitch next to him was a deep sleeper.

Once his strength had built up, he began to wriggle, slowly inching his arms up towards his face. It took a frustratingly long time but he managed to get them out from beneath the covers.

Resting his arms for a moment on top, Jordan couldn’t help but wonder at the comforter briefly. The texture was so damn soft , it made down-filled covers feel like sandpaper in comparison. He was sure the thread count was higher than every sheet he’d ever used in his life combined . Was this girl rich or something? Did that make this situation better or worse?

Worse. He decided worse immediately. What woman would spend the night with a penniless bastard like him? Some desperate housewife maybe? There was no universe in which that ended well. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to be dependent on a woman as the breadwinner. That was a man’s job, damnit!

His left arm eked out into the darkness, sliding along the top cover towards his phone. It was slow going, but he traced the progress out of the corner of his eyes. His limb coasted over the edge of the bed and made its way to the table, stretching onward seemingly forever.

Yet as the nightstand sat there waiting for his touch, he felt no feedback from his hand. He tried his best to lean towards the bedside table, but he couldn’t… reach it?

He blinked, suddenly disoriented. Perhaps he was reaching off in the wrong spot? It was dark, so maybe he just missed his mark? But how had he gotten lost moving his arm a couple feet? Did he—

The light flashed, subtly illuminating his fingers. He had been spot on. His hand had fallen just short of the table itself. How had he misjudged it so badly?

His mind screamed incredulously, it told him, no it swore to him that he was touching the phone right now. It was in his hands; he just needed to grasp it and bring it back. This was the indisputable truth in his thoughts. He could feel it in his hands they were grasping something!

But as he made desperate grasping motions with his hand there was nothing there, just empty air. He knew his body-awareness was off, but this was unreal. How could he feel like his hand was right there, yet clearly see it wasn’t? It was madness. Pure, simple madness! Like a phantom hand sat just above his own, and it's only purpose in existence was to torment him.

Jordan laid there for a time. Extended out towards the table, like Adam reaching for God’s offered hand on the Sistine Chapel's famed ceiling. He wasn’t an art buff by any means, but he felt as separate from his phone as he did from the divine right now.

In his anguish, he huffed out in protest. He had tried to curse, but only incoherent, disparate noises came out. This was so damn frustrating! He felt like he was going ins—

He turned away and focused on breathing. It really wasn’t that much of a problem. He was getting stronger, and his mind gained greater clarity with every passing minute. Whatever drugs he was under were fading, his headache was lessening, and while he didn’t like how hot he was right now, it hadn’t killed him yet, which meant he’d be fine. He had plenty of time.

Stolen story; please report.

But... he was upset. The animal in his brain wouldn’t stop yowling as Vigilance continued to hold the line as the hidden war continued. Should he… be paying attention to it?

He dismissed the idea. Instead he prodded at Vigilance, his old bastion of logic. No matter how he felt, he knew he could rely on it. Rational thought had rarely, if ever, failed him.

He ran though all the reasons he was fine as he sat behind Vigilance, who held the line carrying a gleaming shield of gold brighter than sunlight against a prowling animal of eyes and fury. It wanted Muffins and its writhing, twisting form splashed ephemeral acrid darkness against the light of salvation enveloping him.

Yet, his justifications didn’t make him feel better. Running through the reasons that he was logically getting better and would be fine soon, was not making him feel better. As a tentacle covered in swirling teeth shot past his mental shoulder, Fear scurried about to a new location screaming as Awe tried it’s best to rally the rest of the troops, Jordan just couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Love cuddled up next to him, trying to soothe him while Disgust barely restrained their continued mockery.

His calm state began to break again. Why wasn’t reason and logic making him feel better? Rationalizing the unknown should do that!

Yet over and over his mind tried and failed to stymie the ongoing action. Vigilance bled chromatic idealism, desperately keeping Jordan together despite his own ignorance of what was happening. Stupid thing! It was failing him, despite giving everything it had, and something was wrong. Really… wrong.

That primal instinct inside him was still screeching, and was even louder now in the wake of Vigilance’s catastrophic failure to assuage his concerns, as well as the cumulative wounds forcing it to give ground. It triggered something else now. A roar like a beast unleashed, it harmonized in a way that shouldn’t be with the animal’s screaming. The nearly draconic anguish drove Jordan into sudden action.

This is fucking stupid! Who cares about this bitch, or this place! I’m grabbing my fucking phone and getting the HELL out of here. He did his best to thrash under the covers, to scream obscenities out into the darkness as Fear began to scream alongside Rage It almost felt like he began to froth at the mouth, but that would have been ins—

Jordan sighed, having woken up after another brief blackout. After a few shaky half starts, he managed to get his hands onto his head. He rubbed at his eyes and temples. The screaming in his brain was probably a side effect of the drugs, like how his brain told him his hands were pushing through his head clutching his hippocampus right now.

Everything felt surreal, but Vigilance stayed true, trying to help him through gritting teeth and falling tears. They seemed really wounded. Were they… dying? For… him? No, that was stupid.

He ignored them, instead thinking about how it seemed reasonable that his current state had to be due to some chemical imbalance. Instability caused by some unknown substance he’d never experienced before. There was no need to worry about being afraid of the unknown, it was natural for his brain to recoil in horror like this. If anything, this served as excellent motivation to continue living a clean lifestyle.

The animalistic screeching subsided in indignant shock. Vigilance had managed to push it back, charging forward once more, valiantly. It would do nothing less than offer its everything until the end. Jordan huffed, glad to see logic finally prevailed. About time you lazy piece of shit ! He chided the bleeding, broken emotion.

The creature didn’t seem totally defeated, instead it slinked back into the deepness of his mind letting out an angry growl, like a cat backed into a corner. But he’d take the victory, cat be damned. Jordan hated cats—they were nasty judgmental creatures. They made it clear he was to keep away from them at all times and he was all too happy to oblige.

He slid his hand down the side of his face as Vigilance, with the help of Disgust who surprisingly jumped in to help, worked to cage off the area. They’d survived, for now.

As he contemplated the events he couldn’t remember transpiring inside himself, the hand sliding down his face scratched a bit.

He wasn’t trying to scratch an itch per se, but more that it was habitual. Jordan was no hipster, or hippie, or anything else hip-like really, but he had for the entirety of his adult life worn a large, meticulously groomed beard. He often stroked it, if just to smooth out any errant stray hairs.

It was irrational, but he cherished his beard. There were few things he could be proud of in his life, but his beard? Now that was something to take pride in. It was glorious. It was majestic. It was—

Missing.

...

Jordan was re-paralyzed in an instant.

His beard was gone. His face was smooth. They had shaved him. Him.

He felt his completely nude chin, devoid of so much as a shadow and recoiled in utter horror. It didn’t matter if it would regrow, it would take him months to restore it fully. It was his pride, the one thing that as a man he had done well. Disgust lost it’s shit laughing at Jordan.

It was stupid, but all he could think of was the last conversation he’d ever had with his father. A small voice echoed it in his mind. It tried to call out to him. He could almost...

The conversation had been about beards, of all things. Jordan had wanted to grow one like his father and had called asking for advice. He had been so determined to cultivate the greatest beard possible—he groomed it, trimmed it, hell he went to a barber twice a week to make it perfect.

People could dismiss his pudgy body, his ailing form, his advancing age. But his beard? His beard made him a man. It made him his father’s son. He’d had it for over two decades. Someone was crying. He didn’t know it was going to be the last time he talked to him. He didn’t—

He pinched his cheeks in anguish. It couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t fair, there was no reason to do this to him. They probably didn’t know what it meant to him. It was just a prank, and this was just hair.

But now he was like Samson in the bible, betrayed by some would-be lover. His hair cut off. His power, gone. He hated reading the damn thing but his mother insisted he do so growing up. And she wondered why he was a damn atheist!

He pulled his cheeks, twisted them. He slapped them, poked them, he drilled into them. It felt like his hands had turned into chainsaws tearing his face to shreds. But he didn’t care. Something stirred again, and in its rise, every chain laid out on the cage broke.

The fury of a thousand beardless sons was rushing through him as he struck his face over, and over, and over. He felt heat burning through his face. Shame. Rage. Helplessness But there was nothing there. And the pain couldn’t replace what he had lost.

It was so stupid, but he felt like he had just lost everything. It was awful how the mind would fixate like that. Make something more important than it should be, but it was his father’s beard. It was all he had of the man!

His name was Jordan, the Manliest of Men. Look upon his Beard, ye hairless, and Despair! Yet nothing upon his jaw remained. Round his soft and supple flesh, boundless and bare the lack of stubble stretched on forever.

The animalistic part of his brain was no longer growling. Nor was it hissing, screaming, sputtering, or reacting in a way Jordan would have expected. It was laughing as it broke free. It was Jordan’s turn to scream as a dark figure, bathed in red cloying shadows leapt through his mind’s sky with wings of blades. Rage took flight.

Jordan reached out his right arm towards the inner portion of the bed. He had never struck a woman in anger but he was going to do so now. He was going to hurt everyone. A part of him shouted at him to calm down. He’d never struck anyone in anger—he worked hard at that. Even if it made him a coward to some, to just walk away. He didn’t like to get violent. He didn’t ever want it to be personal. He could still walk away. Be the bigger man here.

NO! KILL!

Disgust silenced the other voices trying to hold it back. It wanted to watch Jordan’s world burn.

This was personal. Man, woman, hell a helicopter could be next to him but he was going to get his answers. This wasn’t a prank, this was a violation. He deserved vengeance. KILL! So, he grabbed the shape next to him and shook it, determined to look whoever had stolen his pride in the face and scream righteous fury at them as he beat the life out of them.

But upon his grasp, the shape next to him collapsed. The pile of pillows that had sat next to him tumbled apart. Several soft shapes spilled out on top of him. There were dozens of them.

...

He sat there in silence for a while. There was no one next to him. He had been alone this entire time. Hahahahahaha!

Then, the Rage began to burn inside him. He strangled a small pillow in his hand as he fumed. Before he could scream, or throw the pillow, or leap from the bed demanding reparations, something trickled down one of his cheeks. And then the other. Blood? Had he hurt himself when he lost control?

Stop fighting it. Let me out, the quiet voice said, crushing Rage into the ground.

He reached up to wipe the liquid away, but it wasn’t as warm as he expected. It was cool on his cheeks. That was odd and caught him off-guard. Everything had been warm today, since he woke up everything had been too hot. But now? This was soothing. It almost felt nice. He wiped at the liquid, his hands tracing them to their source.

It wasn’t blood. It was tears. He was crying, and everything fell apart before the face of Sorrow.

But he couldn’t be. Jordan didn’t cry. He never cried. Men didn’t cry! Even if he lost his beard, he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t cry. He’d… punch something, or scream at something! He’d walk it off! That’s what men did. He was a man. He...

He hadn’t cried at his father’s funeral, not after how his brothers had gone. He had been stoic. Proud. He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t!

Instead… he’d run away.

He’d walked out on his own father’s funeral to avoid making a scene. His mother tried to ‘understand’ his actions but his youngest sister never forgave him. She’d screamed at him, promising him that she would never forgive him, even if his first sister kept trying to reach out to him.

But he’d never forgiven himself either.

He hadn’t cried. He was a man. He’d done as he ought to, right? You didn’t cry. You weren’t supposed to cry. You couldn’t.

He wasn’t crying. He couldn’t be…

But the tears fell down his smooth face, marking him a liar.

Jordan screamed into the darkness as it tore him apart.

----------------------------------------

In the beginning, there was darkness.

But there was not silence.

A small form thrashed underneath heavy covers. From its position, pillows flew out to every corner of the massive room. The struggling individual was throwing them.

And they were screaming. They were alone. Scared. They were in pain.

But their fury and anguish was interrupted, as a heavy latch sounded out as a door was unlocked.

Silence descended once more in a moment within the room. But only for that moment.

As the door opened, it made only a light noise, a small sound of rushing wind. It swung effortlessly, despite the obvious weight of it that disturbed the air. It rested in perfect stillness at the end of its swing.

Light began pouring into the room as an unknown person walked in. They closed the door behind them, and it gently—silently—swung shut. It closed with a resonating, deep thump out of place with its earlier grace.

A heavy latch sounded out once more as the door was locked. It sealed the room like a tomb.

The person, hidden now in the re-established darkness, pressed against something on the wall next to the door. A sound was heard, like humming. A song warming up.

And then, there was light.

The lightbringer turned to look at the momentarily shocked figure on the bed. They exclaimed, but the figure on the bed began to tremble at their gaze.

They stared into the eyes of darkness, lit from within by burning flames of hellfire. It was not a person who had come to find them.

It was a monster.

This was the beginning of the day. A new start, and a new chance. It should have been perfect.

But something was wrong. Something was very, very…

Wrong.

The creature began to approach, and the figure on the bed screamed as an animal inside them laughed in triumph.

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