He woke looking into the sun—no, a big light. The light cut out and other smaller white lights now lit the perimeter of this big round room; a room with many medical devices of which he had not the slightest understanding—looks like Doc Frankenstein has got you dummy.

The world then spun and he realized he was strapped to some kind of platform—bed, something?

His head was strapped in as were all of his limbs and his hips and chest; and he spun, and spun, and flipped and gyrated and plunged to the floor and rose suddenly to the ceiling—this is cool Bro; just like the carnival!

Sleep eventually overtook him as he spun—then he was dangling by the scruff of his neck, a pup in Mother’s great dripping jaws, bobbing above the hunting ground as they looked for Father…

He woke to the sun again, blazing in his eyes—no, it is just a big light.

The light cut out and he was in the medical chamber again. He was then electrocuted—fried really!—even worse than by the crossing guards at school—no they were prison cops they’re called guards too but they’re mean ones—tasty though!

He was plunging into the past through the platinum hoop—then darkness came again.

He woke in a confined space, he was in a tube that was clicking, and the .25 auto round that was stuck in his thigh was rattling around inside of him.

Where am I?

It was as if he was in a giant white log.

Shut-eye, Bracken! I’ve got this watch.

Yes, Sarge, nodding out...

He woke with the sun—no, a big light—shining in his face again.

The sun was replaced by darkness and then a movie screen came to life. He watched many vivid scenes of live combat footage—some from the helmet cams of casualties. This was very interesting. All of a sudden he was wide awake. Although he was still completely immobilized he felt mentally alive, as if he were out on campaign. Then there was hiking, climbing, track & field and fight footage, and nature films as well. He must have been watching this stuff for days. It wasn’t like watching those silly old movies that everybody else watched. This was fascinating, educational even.

He eventually felt some pressure in his left arm and drifted off to blackness again...

He came to consciousness violently as he was plunged—still strapped to the board—into a great vat of iced water. He held his breath, and held it, and held it, and then counted to 3,000, and still held his breath.

I can’t hold my breath this long.

Shoot, I can’t count to 30 either, let alone 3,000!

He finally began to swallow water and was then yanked violently from the icy slush.

That’s kind of refreshing.

I hope I can die—let me die Ma Wolf—it feels so good. Why do they even fight me if it’s this nice?