His eyelashes fluttered wildly as he tried to separate his eyelids. The pain was trying to get into his mind and settle there but for some reason he had strength to ignore it. He kept it away because if it managed to break through, he knew he would scream. And he was depleted of strength to scream.

Managing to open his eyes his vision was still out of focus, everything was just blur filled with colors entwining. A sound was coming from afar but before concentrating on it, he had to keep his attention on merely seeing.

It took great deal of strength to focus his vision, his mind slowly adapting to normal use of his eyes and awareness of things around him almost broke his dedication to keep the pain away. Almost.

He saw the world through squares shaped like diamonds. And for some reason everything was turned to the side. Some moments after he smiled when he figured both of those things out but only a wheeze came out of his throat and blood slowly poured out of his mouth. It’s metallic taste was so overwhelming he thought that was the only taste in the world. Right on its trail came the smell and suddenly his nose was full of fabulous scent of dry earth and scorched plants. And blood. Dried blood smelled worse than it tasted.

Diamond-shaped squares was fence and he laid right next to it it. That was the reason everything he saw was turned to the side. Then, he saw the door.

It was rusted iron door with no visible lock and no handle, set deep inside the concrete wall. And the wall stretched and stretched, no windows anywhere on it. Just the door.

He raised his arm to put it on the fence and the pain finally broke through the dam in his head. All the scratches, the bruises, the cuts, broken bones and stabs, bites and the thorn nails. He felt it all in one moment and the assault was so strong he lost consciousness, his hand falling on the diamond-shaped squared fence.

#

He woke up again some time later. His eyes were open but he saw nothing. It was dark and the sound of crickets assaulted his ears. One of the buggers must have nested close to him, maybe even on him. That reminded him that he should move again. He raised his arm to the fence once again, pain assaulting him one more time but this time he held his ground. His teeth ground hard sending piercing shivers to the back of his skull and down his throat, hand grabbed the fence held it like a sacred relic. He clenched his fingers, with another painful assault to his brain, and pulled feeling himself being slightly moved over the dried ground. He must have bled profoundly since he was lying in the pool of it. Crunching sound mixed with crickets’ as he pulled himself couple of inches. For some reason a scratch on his forearm hurt him the most, its annoying tingling wanted him to peel the remaining skin off of it. With clenched teeth he raised the arm again grabbing the fence and pulling himself to the side. He could barely discern it but he had to reach the door. The door was the safety. Through the door all the pain would disappear.

A terrible sound filled his ears. Wooo... it kept on going and going so loud that it made his teeth shake and his body ache even more. His head swelled as if all of it went inside. He fainted, still clutching the fence, the wooing sound never leaving him.

#

„There ain’t no grave..." a metallic voice brought him back this time. „...can hold my body down..." The voice kept on going. It was rough and had no melody but obviously it was trying desperately to sing. „When I hear the trumpet sound..." it’s rough note kept on going and it made him feel better. A surge of strength came to his broken body. „„...I’m gonna rise right out of the ground..." His hand gripped the fence once again, it’s shape and thin sharp wires cutting deep into his skin. „Ain’t no grave..." He breathed hard and deep, his throat burning dry and pulled himself even more. „...can hold my body down..." A grunt came out of him, this time more freely and loosely. His hand kept on gripping and pulling.

„Well, look way down the river..." the singing lowered its intensity as if it was going away, abandonment awaking fear. That made him afraid. The voice gave him strength. That meant someone was probably behind the door, someone that might even help him. „„...what do you think I see..." It faded even more. He desperately pulled himself over the dried burnt ground knowing that when it goes silent his consciousness is going to fade with it. „I see a band of angels..."" He could barely hear it this time. A buzzing constant sound replaced it cut with occasional cough of electric fizzle. He faded away hearing in the long distance „...coming after me...

#

Next time he opened his eyes was with tremendous effort. He could not raise his hand anymore, his wounds failing to invoke pain in his brain. Dizziness was a clear sign of blood loss, too much blood depleted from his veins. His vision was blurry, diamonds of the fence doubling and tripling. The door was dancing up and down, mocking him. The bloody door that he’ll never reach.

And now there was a man standing in it’s frame, dancing up and down in his vision, together with the door that meant so much. He used what little strength was left in him to laugh at his own misery, the irony was that he will go down even without that, wheezing sound being everything his dried throat could muster and manage.

Man from the door disappeared just as he expected, a mocking vision of his mind. He procured some unknown bits of strength and will to push himself away on his back. He felt the rock poke him in the shoulder-blade but the smell of grass was satisfying. And the sun will shine upon him. It was better to die during the day, as if somebody used to tell him that.

„The grass was greener..." he heard that rough voice singing once again, this time it was not metallic. And his singing sounded even worse. Well, at least he’ll be sent away with a song. „...the light was brighter..." it kept on going and it kept on getting closer and closer. For a moment he thought even to be happy but decided against it. „...with friends surrounded..." the voice said almost above him but the sun kept on shining, burning his eyes, stinging his dried, tear-bereft eyelids. „...the nights of..." suddenly the sun disappeared and he discerned a figure above him, it’s head circled by the rays of sun, like a figure of some different times.

„...wonder!" the figure yelled curiously above him, it’s voice now soft, all roughness gone away.

„Wonder..." his dried throat managed to whisper, his burnt lips barely moving. He raised his hand in attempt to touch the figure but there was nobody there, sun stinging his eyes once again.

„Wonder..." his blood-crusted lips managed to move once again.

#

How long has it been, he thought to himself the moment his eyes popped open. There was a ceiling filled with pipes and cables and the buzzing sound which kept on going and going. But, how long has it been? There was no ache, no pain, just a killing urge to scratch himself, his entire body, as if crickets crawled under his skin.

The taste of blood left his mouth but it was replaced with even worse one, some chemical which tasted like a rotten corpse. And it smelled too, its stench rising up from the mouth and straight to his nose, all the way through it and back again into his mouth. The blood was better.

He tried to move his hand and it jerked in front of his face like a shot catapult. He could move as if nothing happened. The vigor returned to his limbs at once and he jerked to sitting position. Before he could better discern his surroundings, the notion came to his mind the moment he felt dizziness that that was not a good decision he’d just done. His head fell down backwards hitting something very hard. The pain he felt in it was a welcoming addition, it reminded him to be more careful and it woke him up completely.

„I see that you’re up," he heard the familiar voice filling the room. „Were up," the voice added with a mirth.

„Yep," he chuckled with closed eyes and clenched teeth waiting for the pain to dissipate.

„Try to take care of that head," the voice continued. „It took a great effort to preserve it."

„I’ll try," he said slowly opening his eyes. The ceiling and the pipes swooned around his vision, his stomach clenching to throw up.

„I filled you up with so many chemicals that it’s a wonder you’re not pissing them in rainbow colors," the voice said merrily as it moved around the room, echoing from all sides.

„Thanks, I guess," he said, his vision slowly getting steadier.

„Make sure to thank me when you do start to piss rainbow," an honest laughter echoed.

„I will," he wanted to say more but it took a great deal of power just to focus on the hearing.

„Now, sit up with eyes closed," suddenly serious, the voice was the one you would instantly obey. And he did.

„The trick is in the eyes," he heard and then felt the pinching pain only a needle could make, wincing.

„Stop squirming, it’s just a needle," the voice said matter-of-factly.

„Still hurts," he told in defense. There was a chuckle from the man’s throat as the needle came out of his skin.

„Now, listen carefully. I have other business to attend to. Sit here with eyes closed. Adapt them slowly and when your vision is strong enough, test your legs. Then come and find me."

„All right," he said to the man but soon figured out that he was already gone. Buzzing sound came back and settled heavily on his senses. For a moment he thought he heard the man singing again but maybe that just stayed in his ears from the time he was lying next to the fence.

He obeyed his orders. It took some time for his vision to get steady but it somehow did without his stomach being in pain. He looked around the room noticing the few things it was furnished with.

He sat on the cold metal table, it’s surface shining brightly. Next to it was a smaller one, small wheels attached to it’s lower plank. It had many shelf levels and the top one was covered with strange looking chemicals, in pills and in small bottles, bandages and strange looking tools among it. They all looked incredibly clean. Across him a metal door and next to it a thing that took some time for him to remember what it was. A sink. And as much as he could figure out, with running water. Apart from cables and pipes and wires on the ceiling there were just some long tubes that produced light connected to the wall of the very small room. He did not feel comfortable in it at all.

Slowly he mustered enough self-assurance to stand up, first on one leg and once that one felt strong enough, then on the other. Soon he felt solid enough to move and went straight for the door.

Outside of the room a long corridor awaited, its ceiling full of pipes and wires, its walls lined with light producing tubes. Right side had only one door standing in the middle of a long wall while the left had much more, he counted four.

The buzzing sound was dulled once he got out of the room but now he could hear clearly that the man was singing, his voice muffled. Holding one hand to the wall slowly he went down the corridor following the voice.

„When life seems full of clouds an’ rain..." the rough voice was getting clearer as he approached the end of the corridor. He could see that the last door was open. „...and I am filled with naught but pain..." the singing went on.

He reached the door laying his hand on the frame and peeked inside. „...who soothes up my thumpin’ bumpin’ brain..."

The man was sitting in a huge chair, his legs raised up and crossed on the table. Behind him was a wall covered with all sorts of machinery, buttons and levers and readers and even a small monitor that flickered and worked. The man was eating something from a can, singing with his mouth almost full. „...Nobody..." he kept on going.

„Is that canned meat?" he asked as the fabulous smell reached his nose. It was so strong that he felt he could taste the air itself that was full of it.

„Pork bacon with beans, want some?" the man said turning towards him, legs still on the table.

He was much older than he expected. Strings of gray could be seen in his amber hair, wrinkles on his brow and around eyes deep. The man spotted a long beard that went to the half of his chest but it lacked voluminousness. However, it was of bright red color, the one that was called after a fruit he’d heard about. Dressed in thick sweater, dirty black pants and army boots, he was definitely a strange looking figure whose blue eyes gazed and pierced so strong that you had to look somewhere else.

He nodded as an answer to the question, the smell so strong that made his stomach churn and his throat burn. He couldn’t remember ever eating canned meat and developed sudden craving for it.

„Help yourself," the man pointed to the chair behind the door and reached for the cans. Not one, but two cans, biggest ones he’s ever seen. „Don’t get used to them," the man added giving him the metal spoon as he sat down. He opened the first can and let the smell assault him. He did not feel hungry but nevertheless ferociously dug the spoon in and filled the mouth. The beans were crunchy and the bacon too soft but it felt like... well, like something he never ate and always wanted to.

„So, what is your name?" bearded man asked him as he started to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater.

He looked at him and swallowed the huge chunk in his mouth. For a moment a confusion took him and he stared dumbly at the bearded man.

„I... I don’t know," he finally said.

„That’s appropriate," bearded man smiled. „He has amnesia."

„What’s appropriate?" he asked. „And what’s amnesia?"

„Don’t you mind about it, young man," he answered with a grin. „So, this continues like a story?"

„What story?" he asked again throwing a spoonful of beans into the mouth. For some reason he was not alarmed for not being able to remember his name.

„One that you most certainly don’t know anything about and one that I don’t intend to enlighten you."

„All right then."

„Nevertheless, we have to name you something ’till we find a better solution," bearded man continued. „How does Templar sound?"

„I don’t know," he answered his mouth still hard on chewing.

„It will suit you, I guess," bearded man said pointing to the picture on the shirt he wore. He glanced down only to see an upside down cross on it. „Now you name me."

„Don’t you have one of your own?" he asked confused.

„Well, I do but since I don’t know yours, you’ll not know mine either."

He gazed at him chewing and finally spoke. „Redbeard would suit you, I guess."

Bearded man laughed throwing his head backwards. „I should have seen that one coming." Suddenly he stopped, put his legs on the ground and leaned over the table. „So, you know nothing before I found you next to my fence?"

„I even barely remember any fence," Templar said confused.

„Aaah... Even a stranger case of amnesia." Redbeard leaned back with a smile and one eyebrow raised. „This indeed turns out to be just like in stories."

„So, what is this place?" Templar decided not to ask about stories this time.

„This is my home," Redbeard answered crossing his arms over the chest.

„But, what is it?" Templar was persistent.

„I see, a questioning type," Redbeard smiled once again. „Well, this used to be a station for certain experiments long time ago and I claimed it as my home. That shall be enough information for now."

„All right. Thanks. I guess," Templar said.

„Until I decide what to do with you, you can stay in the room you woke up in," Redbeard said standing up.

„I don’t like that room," Templar said promptly gazing at him. „It feels... odd."

„It really does," Redbeard said with a smile. „I don’t like it or use it either but it’s your choice. Whether go out or stay in there." With those words he stood up and walked out of the machinery room leaving him with the second can of „pork bacon with beans" to attend to. Templar peeled it open and dug the spoon into it.

#

„Wake up, mate. We have work to do." Redbeard’s rough voice called from the corridor. This time he stood up quickly not wanting the banging on the door to assault his ears. Few uneventful days passed since first waking up in the small windowless room. Redbeard got him two rough brown blankets whose hairs poked into his skin hard when he covered himself but it was better than lying on the cold metal bed. The clothes he wore were also given to him, army boots, jeans and a shirt that had a cross on it and strange letters that he managed to read and said „Motorhead". Later he gave him an additional leather jacket. It did not provide much warmth inside but somehow he felt safer in it.

Those couple of days the chemicals were slowly wearing off and the pain of countless wounds and cuts was kicking in. Redbeard still gave him shots, two times a day, but he did not feel it helped much. Bruises all over his body turned black and every touch on them sent agonizing pain down his spine. Cuts and scratches crusted on his skin and sometimes he would peel it away. Even bleeding could hardly stop him from doing that. It hurt him to breathe since the broken ribs did not properly settle yet but the missing fingernails were the worse, its regrowth produced pus making the tip of the fingers constantly oozy. The amount of wounds was staggering and he wondered, not how he survived those but how Redbeard managed to save him.

And the strange man, he barely saw him last couple of days. He spent most of his time in the big room on the right side just emerging from it to eat. Templar would join him then but they ate in silence. He would try to start a conversation but it fell on deaf ears. Redbeard would just smile or wink or raise an eyebrow and cryptically say that they would talk some other time. And he kept on singing, over and over again, sometimes repeating the same song for entire day. Templar could hear him through the wall, the voice muffled, words barely recognizable.

The thing Templar pondered most of the time was about his memory, amnesia as Redbeard called it, and it was still troubling him. He could still remember nothing before waking up in the small room and those memories from that day onward slowly faded. He could remember yesterday quite well but in few days time he knew that only few details about it will stay in his mind. Redbeard said once that it will go away sometime. Or maybe he said it every day and he just plainly forgot.

However, now he dressed up and went out of the room. He felt good every time he had a reason to leave it. Redbeard stood in the corridor dressed completely different than usual. Huge coat that went from his neck down to his boots covered most of his body. It was buttoned down to his waist and only his boots could barely be discerned. On his head he spotted a hat that was curving up on one side and his face was covered with a strange mask that had some machinery right on the mouth. He could hear that his breathing was louder because of it. Finally, goggles that stuck to his face covered his eyes. He was extending same head gear to him.

„We’re going out. Wear these." He spoke with muffled metallic voice.

Templar took them and put them the same way Redbeard did. Only the hat was different, not a brimmed one like his but rather a cap made of leather that covered most of his head and back of the neck.

„Where are we going?" Templar asked putting on the mask.

„Salvaging," Redbeard replied, turned and went to the door at the end of the corridor. Templar followed.

„I have not eaten," he said behind him.

„You will survive," he heard him say ahead of him.

Redbeard reached the door that Templar have not opened or pried about all his time. There was some panel next to it and Redbeard started to poke on the numbers. After he finished Templar heard clanking and then a whooshing sound as the door slided to the left. The brightness assaulted him piercing deeply into his brain. Now he knew what the goggles were for. They darkened the light a little bit otherwise he would be blinded stepping outside after many days in dark or low tube light. Redbeard stepped out and Templar followed.

They were in a yard surrounded by a tall fence that had barbed wire on the top of it and it was spread for its entire length. Courtyard held nothing save scorched grass. Behind the fence bushes grew and as further as the gaze went they slowly changed into degenerate woods. They were obviously high up in the hills because the ground slowly descended. He could see a dry river bed down in the distance that used to cut through the valley, hills that turned to mountains on both sides of it.

„The Believers finally left the valley and now we can go for a walk," Redbeard said pressing the buttons on the outside panel. The door closed.

„Believers?" Templar asked.

„Crazy ass motherfuckers that like to eat people but are dumb enough for me to fool them," Redbeard explained going to the door in the middle of the fence. Templar followed. „They run around the area hunting and killing people. Then they simply eat them. Degenerate effects of that cuisine made them stupid beyond measure. I settled in the midst of their roaming area and the sound I play for them through the speakers... Well, they think it must be some kind of a god to them. So, they leave me stuff around the fence as a fealty."

„What kind of stuff?" Templar asked.

„All kinds of stuff," Redbeard continued. „Whatever they find appropriate but usually food which in their case means people.""

„That’s how I came to you?" Templar asked surprised.

„Yep. They left you bloody and beaten in front of my fence thinking you must be dead. I saw you on a monitor thinking you sure are dead. When some time after I saw you still moved I decided to give you a chance to survive. Guess I wasn’t wrong in doing that. ’Cause your loss of memory now intrigues me."

„How nice," Templar mumbled but Redbeard ignored him.

„Me and Believers, we have a special bond now. Nobody wanders into this area anymore so I can live in peace but I have to be here when they bring presents otherwise they go crazy and start a killing spree. But it’s mostly because I’m afraid that one of them might get the idea to be a hero from ancient times and decide to face the gods. I cannot afford to lose this cozy little place I stumbled upon."

„What is this place?" Templar asked as they walked down the path among the bushes.

„Same question again," Templar heard the laughter through the mask. „It used to be an experiment base a long, long time ago. Sometimes before the Changes.""

„Changes?" Templar asked.

„That knowledge is too early to bestow you with," Redbeard said fastening his pace down the narrow path. Sun shone brightly and Templar felt like boiling under the leather jacket and the mask and the boots but he guessed Readbeard had a reason to make him wear them. He followed his pace breathing heavily yet somehow the air in his lungs feeling fresh.