In a dark hospital room

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Your eyes open with a jerk. Everything is wrong. The smell of antiseptic fills your nose. You are covered in a thin blanket and a papery gown. Sitting up, you realise that there is a cord attached to a sticky pad on your chest. You rip it away, jerking as you do so at the tube that connects to your forearm. It leads up to a bag of clear fluid, hanging up near your head. Wincing, you draw the needle out and suppress a cry from the pain as thick bead of blood instantly wells up from the vacated wound. Pressing your hand to the bleeding, you look around in the dim light for something that can absorb the blood.

While you glance frantically around, the door opens, and a nurse starts to see you up.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please relax, lie back down. Let me help you." Then, turning her head behind, you hear, "Officer. Officer! She's awake, she's awake!."

She bustles in to your bed, reaching to your shoulder to subdue you. When you flinch involuntarily at the contact, where her light touch sparks a flare of pain, where Alex's thumb seems to have bruised you, she realises her mistake and holds up the hand, empty, to reassure.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Look, I won't touch you unless you want me to. Okay? But that bleeding is serious, and you'll need my help to stop it."

Looking down at the arm, you see blood running thickly out between your clutching fingers.

"Please, let me help you with that. I have this to help stop the bleeding." She holds up a bandage and some surgical tape, holding it with both hands as if to offer it to you.

Nodding slightly, you pull your blood-soaked hand away. The liquid looks black in the dark, oozing forcefully from the wound, as the nurse quickly sets to work and wraps the soft material tightly around your forearm. The tape crosses over three times, securing it, and as you stare at her handiwork you feel a sharp prick in your other arm. Turning to face the attacker, you see an unfamiliar face, jerking your hand towards them. Your hand grabs at their loose clothing and smearing fresh blood across their torso and you snarl at the people around you in fear.

"Get away from me," you spit, "get your hands... off..."

You slump back into blackness.

The next time you wake up, it is light. There is an older woman by your side, her face lined with concern, the ceiling light flashing in her glasses. She holds both hands out, palms up, showing that she is not attempting to touch you or conceal anything.

"Good morning my dear, you've had quite a night. You're here because you've been attacked and we want to keep you safe. Can you tell me your name?"