I was lying on a hard hospital bed, dressed only in a thin white gown over my underwear. There was also a pair of heavy bracelets on my wrists. They were made of hard white plastic, each about as wide as a playing card and much thicker than a watch. There were no markings or writing on them. Probably having been designed for adults, the bracelets weren’t particularly tight around my wrists, but I couldn’t slip them off. I wondered for a moment if they might be some kind of medical monitoring equipment, but my gut told me that they were something more sinister, though I couldn’t fathom what. I carefully touched my stomach, expecting to find some bandages, but there were none. Slipping my right hand under my gown, I felt where the bullet had left my body. Aside from some light scarring, it was completely healed. The square room that my bed was in had dark gray walls, was claustrophobically tiny, and contained no other furniture at all. There was a heavy iron door set in the center of one wall and an intercom next to it.
