I wake up and for a moment there is that rare feeling that everything is alright and Sammy is alive and everyone is here, going about their business.

Then my leg starts to ache. I snap back to reality and the situation makes itself aware to me again. I'm nearly immobile, I have a super-intelligent AI in my head, and despite the AI's vast knowledge, I'm still no closer to knowing anything about what happened twelve years ago. I sit up, wincing at my sore muscles, and look around. Same bedroom, same primitive decorations, same bed.

I call somehow into my mind, "HELIOS?"

"Yes, Helen."

"How long until I walk again?"

"Theoretically, you are able to walk now," He tells me, "But I would not recommend--"

"Help me stand up, if you can," I tell him as I throw the comforter off.

"I will restrict the travel of glutamane and Substance P through your body," HELIOS tells me. I put my feet on the carpet and press lightly with my left leg, the injured one. I feel a small ache, but almost nothing. I press harder to the same results. Well, good to know HELIOS can dampen my the pain I feel.

Who knows when I might run into another wild dog.

I stand up completely and am relieved to note that my leg feels perfect. I take an experimental step and don't fall down. I push this experiment further and walk across the room, to the brown faux wood door that exits the master bedroom. I try to turn the knob.

It's locked.

I call to HELIOS, "Why's the door locked?"

"I do not know. There is no one else here that has the ability to lock it."

I sigh and almost sit down on the bed. Instead, I turn full-circle, looking for anything that could help me break the door down or force it open. My eyes fall on a real wood desk in the corner of the room. On the desk sits a brass-looking lamp, coated in a layer of dust (as everything is). I walk over to the desk, suddenly feeling slightly woozy, and grab the lamp. It's surprisingly heavy, maybe nine or ten pounds. I shuffle back over to the door and turn the lamp upside down in my hands, ripping off the thing's canvas shade. I take the bulb out of its socket, too, and place it on the nightstand by the bed.

Taking up position my the door again, I count to three in my head. One... I raise the lamp over my head, wincing at the aching in my stressed joints. Two... I step comfortably closer to the door, all the better to hit it with.

Three. I bring the metal base of the lamp down on the doorknob once, expecting the knob to break or pop off. It doesn't. I do hear a very loud crack, though. I take this as a good sign and hit the door again.

The door handle falls off without ceremony. I drop the lamp, wipe my hands on the butt of my already pretty dirty jeans, and walk out of the room. Looking around the house briefly, I see a few more primitive decorations, but they're not as prominent as in the bedroom. It's getting harder to ignore the feeling that I'm going to throw up or pass out, so I shuffle into the easy-to-find living room and lay on the couch. Dusty, but... what the fuck?

I press my nose more firmly to the cushion of the couch and immediately forget the sick feeling in my stomach. Something's wrong. I sniff the dusty polypropylene fabric again and smell the same thing.

Sometime in probably the past week, someone shampooed this couch. I cam smell the sickly sweet chemical scent. And I'd probably taste it too, if I licked the fabric.

"HELIOS."

"Yes, Helen?"

"Why does this couch smell so nice? Who cleaned it? When? Is there someone else here? How did they get here? How did I get here?" The sick feeling returns and I take a few breaths, going quiet.

"I cannot reveal that in-"

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" I scream at the top of my lungs, straining my vocal chords. Tears break the shield of my closed eyelids and roll down my face. I let out a hitching sob and curl into a ball on the couch.

One of my cries is cut off when I hear a sound. A faint clicking sound, like...

Like someone closing a door. I bolt upright, careful not to make any sound.

I think to HELIOS, Kitchen, now.

"Turn around and go through the doorway."

Delicately, I turn on my heels and stalk over to the kitchen. Transitioning from the carpet of the living room to the tile of the kitchen is tricky, but I slink across to the counter relatively quietly. Who could this be? I'm the only person left.

And then I think, You don't know that.

I don't know which thought is scarier.