[USS Vanguard] RPG: Waking
- From: "Andy W. Ho" <andywoho@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: "ncv80221@xxxxxxxxxxxxx" <ncv80221@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Wed, 1 Nov 2006 06:26:08 -0800 (PST)
The first thing Dominic Santos noticed when he woke was the smell. It seemed to
permeate everything in the room. If stale dreams could be bottled and
re-released, then this was its essence.
Santos tried rising to a sitting position, but he felt unusually sore, as if
his muscles had atrophied. Finally, he managed to sit on the edge of his bed.
His bare feet touched an unusual substance. It was cold. In his sleep-daze, he
wondered if his quarters aboard Vanguard or the starbase had carpeting. He knew
they did. This felt like something that tried to resemble tile, although it
fell woefully short.
Santos ran his hand against his jaw, as was his habit when he was preoccupied.
He felt uneven stubble, as if he had been growing a beard for a week. But that
couldn't be right. His goatee was neatly trimmed. He ran his hand through his
hair. It felt limp, overly long and, worse, dirty, as if he hadn't bathed
recently.
Santos ran his hands along his chest. He was wearing a rough material. It felt
like the material long-distance traders sometimes used to haul their wares.
Santos felt the first prickly waves of panic at the back of his mind. He took a
few deep breaths to calm himself. He tried to remember where he was last night.
The picture that came to his mind was distant, foggy, as if he were trying to
make out a shadowy figure through a foggy lens.
The door rattled as someone entered. She wore a white medical shift over loose
green pants and carried a tray of food.
"Good morning, Mister Santos," she said cheerily.
"Where am I?" Santos asked. His voice was a hoarse croak.
She put the food on a table between Santos' bed and the door. She seemed
disappointed.
"You're in the hospital," she said. "Do you remember? Have you taken your
medication?"
Santos fought down his panic.
"My name is Dominic Cesar Santos. I hold the rank of commodore in Starfleet. My
serial number is SP-1021-339. I am a citizen of the United Federation of
Planets. If I'm being held prisoner I demand to speak to a Federation
representative. Barring that, I demand to speak to the head of this facility."
The nurse looked at him as if she had heard all this before.
"What year is it?" she asked.
It took him a moment to answer. "Currently, it's 2383, old style."
She nodded, her eyes trained on his. "Dominic, I want you to listen to me
carefully. The year is 1985. There is no United Federation of Planets. There is
no Starfleet.
"You are a patient of the Vanguard Psychiatric Hospital, and you are being
treated for acute schizophrenia."
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