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You wake in a cold sweat. The initial shock of awakening fading, you look around to see your surroundings. You're on a surgical table, in a rather unique room. The walls are lined with foreign machinery, Victorian-era cabinets, and bookshelves made of mahogany. You spot an open doorway in between to bookshelves, and decided to see where you were. As you get up, you feel a sharp pain in your stomach, and look down to see stitches lining your body. They look recent, and not very professionally done, judging from the caked blood surrounding your wounds. You don't remember being in any accident that would cause wounds this bad, and you're terrified that it could have been because of the surgical table, and eventually you come to a conclusion on why you are here. The thought that some madman could have drugged you up and used you as a plaything to cut and mutilate gives you enough motivation to try and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, ignoring the pain.
However, for some reason, you feel drawn to the books on the shelves, and what could be in the cabinets. You decide taking a moment to examine the room a bit more thoroughly, and so you turn to the bookshelves first. You notice that all of the books seem the same, and none of them have anything written on the spines. You pick one tome at random, and open it to see... nothing. The pages are blank. You flip all the way through it, but not a drop of ink is seen. You open another book to see the same. You open yet another, and after that, you realize that it's not worth your time. That's when you turn to the cabinets. As you open one, you're overcome by a torrent of papers.
After throwing the papers that had covered you to the side, you pick one up to read it. All that is written on the page is a single word. "Remember." It is repeated over and over, covering the entirety of the page. It appears to have been hastily scrawled in with pencil. Your interest piqued, you put down to paper to read another. It's the same as before, but there is also the number 82 written on it. You are starting to wonder what's going on, when you hear creaks, bangs, and what may be footsteps. This reminds you of what your initial goal was, and you get up to leave the room.
As you reach the door, you open it, to see a darkened hallway, with doorways on each side of you. Curious, you open the first door to your left, to find... a brick wall. You open another, and yet you see the same. As you move down the hallway, opening doors to find nothing, you notice that it seems the walls are getting rustier, dirtier, looking more and more like you're in some abandoned area, untouched by man. You wonder how whatever it is that captured you could live in this place. Marching forward, you get to a point where the hallway couldn't possibly get any dirtier, but it doesn't bother you. What does bother you, however, is the realization that the room is not lit, and yet you can see a certain distance. Something seems wrong about it all. Yet, you continue on, hoping to find an escape of some sort. Even if it takes you an eternity, you will keep moving.
Eventually, the doors stop, but this doesn't matter any more. You keep going, almost running now. When was it that you started running, exactly? Strangely, you can't remember, and... remember...? What is it about that word, why does it click in your mind? Come to think of it, what do you remember? As you begin to think more, you decide now would be a great time to rest, and you sit, leaning against a wall. You try and look through your memories, hoping to find out how you got into this place. As you search through, you remember various stupid stories, parts of your childhood, but barely anything of importance. However, as though someone had flicked a switch, your mind floods with images. The viewpoint of the driver on a road, seemingly very remote, perhaps out in a desert. A strange black blur, darting across the road. Swerving into a ditch. A hospital building, without anyone in sight.
With these new found memories, you try and connect them, and eventually come to a conclusion. You believe you crashed, and whatever the black blur was dragged you to an abandoned hospital, to do whatever sick acts it wanted to your unconscious body. These thoughts disturb you, so you get back up, and continue to walk down the corridor, praying you'll find an exit. Nothing seemed to change as you kept going, and it feels as though hours have passed, when you feel something like a pinprick on your arm. You turn to see what is there, to see a strange, amorphous being of pure darkness. You swing a fist at it, but it merely goes through. Strangely, the creature feels ice cold. Slowly, it begins to envelope you, and your vision begins to be clouded by the darkness. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you pass out.
"Such a shame," a man in a coat said, looking over the prone body of a man, lying in the wreckage of a car. The man with the coat shook his head, and pulled a two way radio out of his pocket. "Officer Samson here. We have a car crash on Route 82, you know, the one out in the desert. There's only one guy in the car, and I'm not sure whether or not he survived. Currently, he's unconscious. I say we send some paramedics, in case he's still alive. Remember to bring a body bag."