to a blank page. He didn’t even notice the most obvious thing - that he wasn’t alone. He felt along his body, looking for scars, but he found none. He wasn’t in pain, strangely enough. Well, his throat hurt a little. Harold touched it, and instantly he felt gauze with tape covering his windpipe. He looked about his bed, searching for a button. Maybe he could call a nurse, or somebody to help him. As he looked up, he saw the screen.

Nobody can help you, Harold.

He looked, and right there in front of him stood three people. There was a rather large man, maybe in his mid-thirties, with rather thick glasses. He was dressed in work clothes, and a mass of wild, dark hair stuck out from under his bent cap. To the right of him was a teenage girl with a small, freckled f...

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