The Pane

They did not know where they were; they did not know who they were. They could barely sense what was around them. The occasional indistinct voice filtered through the dimness, distorted by the fluid they found themselves submerged in. It did not trouble them; they did not need to breathe. In front of them was a large glass pane.

There was no lack of sensory stimulation. They felt pinpricks, and shocks, and warmth and cold and sometimes pain. They opened their eyes for the first time a week ago. With every barrage of sensations, they changed, and they could see themselves changing by the day in the reflection on the pane.

They remembered moments from before. Concrete pillars, clouds and rain. A line of people. They looked much different from those people; they did not have much of a shape, or a face, or many features at all. They also remembered a machine, a red light, a repeating piercing sound, and a white light. And finally an unfamiliar shore.

A masked woman approached the pane. She also looked different from the people they remembered, as the asymmetry of her robes, the prosthetic sixth fingers on her hands, and the white scales making up her mask gave her an alien appearance. She gestured, and the pane lit up with graphs and numbers. They could not comprehend them, but they were a clear indication of why they were here. She was healing, she was care, she was hope.

She placed her hand on the pane. A half-formed limb rose to meet it.