Cliff rose from the hospital bed, his tensed muscles fighting tooth and nail for him not to. He groaned as a pain in his stomach began to fester, leaving him frozen in his tracks. No. Not his stomach. His chest. His heart, specifically. How long had it been since he had taken his pills? Too long, his chest told him. But why was he behind on his pills if he was in a hospital? Wait.... Why was he in a hospital? He didn't remember having an episode. He didn't remember much, actually. Then it his him. It wasn't that he didn't remember much... He didn't remember anything. His name was Cliff Markov, he lived in downtown Pittsburgh, and he vaguely remembered killing a man. He was 16 years old and was diagnosed with chronic heart disease. Other then that, he couldn't remember anything. Where he went to school, who his friends were, who his god dammed PARENTS were. All gone. He started to panic, but the pain in his chest reminded him that panic would probably kill him. He slowly swiveled his legs to sit on the edge of his bed, trying to calm his breathing. Something bothered him. This place wasn't a hospital. At least, not a normal one. He had been in plenty of hospitals before. There wasn't the usual chatter that usually pissed him off so much. He was oddly calm, meaning it was oddly quiet. Was this place abandoned? Was it just after hours? He wasn't sure, and the uncertainty made it harder to not panic. He put a hand to his chest and his eyes widened. He felt something. A long, thin lump that spanned directly over his heart. He stood, holding onto the railing on the wall to stay standing. He had to go to the lobby. If there was going to be anybody around, they would be there. He was so focused on staying standing that he didn't notice the knife handed boy watching him from down the hallway, his rain coat's hood pulled over his flat cap.