Ever since humankind developed thought worthy of the name, we've been fascinated by knowledge – by filling the gaps in our understanding of the unknown. Sometimes, when the explanation for the unknown was too vast to be bridged by our limited understanding, we began weaving elaborate stories, ensuring some kind of explanation circulated nonetheless. In doing so, we artificially satisfied a collective need. However, the urge to know has always been—and always will be—rather difficult to appease. Human nature compels us to persevere, asking questions and seeking answers that are increasingly accurate, increasingly reflective of reality. Upon this innate curiosity, humans built entire civilizations, complex systems, feats of engineering—first taking flight beyond the clouds, and then, once we understood what an atmosphere was, venturing even beyond it, toward the stars.

Viewed from this perspective, knowledge can only appear as something wonderful, something that excites people and makes them feel alive. So why, then, does Felix feel as though knowledge is the greatest curse he's ever endured? Why, now that the fragments of memory in his mind are starting to form a more or less complete picture, does he find himself hoping to forget everything all over again?

He never thought he'd entertain such a notion, yet he almost misses the cell, the ignorance, the animalistic adrenaline that drove him during those first weeks—or was it months?—of captivity. That version of himself seems so distant now. So naive, even.

He's been in a psychiatric hospital for three and a half weeks. They've stitched his mind back together with pills, regressive hypnosis sessions, and plenty of walks outdoors. He's sunk his feet into the soft green lawn and eaten three hearty meals a day. He's put on weight, cut off his bleached blond hair, leaving only his natural dark locks. He's washed his body every day with such dedication that his skin invariably turns red. He hasn't had any visitors. Not once. He kept asking about Hyunjin every day, and every day he received vague answers. He kept asking anyway, because it's become a sort of habit now. An essential step in this loop.

He's in the courtyard with one of the nurses. He's never alone, not really. He couldn't say what these people fear: that he'll escape? Or that he'll take his own life? Whatever it is, they make sure Felix doesn't make any missteps. They keep an eye on him, but gently. It's clear they don't want to add further trauma to his already fragile mental state.

Felix picks a daisy. He observes its yellow, bulbous center. The white petals turn pinkish towards the inside. Some have really intense hues... He's completely focused on this simple, comforting thought when the nurse speaks to him.

"Do you like flowers?"

Felix looks up. The woman is plump, but kind. Of all the nurses, she's by far the gentlest when it comes to drawing blood. Felix twirls the daisy in his fingers, rolling its stem between his thumb and forefinger. He wonders if it's one of those trick questions, where the answer hides some sort of psychoanalysis.

"Not particularly," Felix says with a shrug. "I just like looking at things," he adds, but feels he needs to give that statement some context so she'll understand better. "I didn't have much to observe during the atonement period," he says. The words slip out so naturally... As if he knew the atonement procedure by heart. Maybe he does. He's sure he does. But his memory is too damaged for the information to surface at the right time. Usually, it all comes rushing back suddenly at night—he wakes up screaming and starts clawing at his face and arms in hysterics. At that point, they sedate him, and the memories disappear again. But something remains. Like a stain that, no matter how much you wash it, still leaves its shadow on the fabric.

"Your case is quite unique," the nurse sighs. "The… intensity directed at you, too..." she murmurs, letting slip. "There's a lot that goes on upstairs, with the higher-ups, that I don't understand. Maybe I never will. I can't condemn what they do, but as a nurse, I can't exactly praise it either... Do you know what I mean?"

Felix nods.

"They own this place. It wouldn't do to bite the hand that feeds you."

The nurse laughs. "I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but... it's true enough."

They sit in silence for a moment, then Felix speaks again: "Do you think I'll ever get out of this place?"

"The psychiatric hospital, you mean?"

"Yes," Felix says, "but not just that."

The nurse considers this. "You'll definitely get out of the psychiatric hospital. You're in the final stages now—you're doing incredibly better than when you came in."

"And my life? Will I ever go home?"

The nurse pulls her lips into a strange, almost sad smile. "Maybe you'll find a new home. Maybe it'll even be better than the one you had before. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Felix lets out a half-sigh. Then he rubs his eye and lies back on the grass. He watches the blue sky overhead, small banks of clouds drifting slowly, pushed by the wind. "Can I ask you something?"

"Try me."

"I want you to tell me the truth. From the beginning. But simply, in a way I can understand."

The nurse hesitates. Obviously, she can't do that. Felix closes his eyes. Everything concerning him is treated like a damned state secret... and to think he's just some stupid low-level dealer.

"It shouldn't be me telling you, you know."

"Then who?"

"The doctor, maybe. Or someone you trust. That would be better."

Hyunjin.

"I'm alone in this place. In fact, I'm alone in this world. Or haven't you noticed the distinct lack of people who've come to visit me in the hospital?" he asks, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. His throat tightens as he says the words. It hurts. It's incredible that anything can still hurt, after everything he's been through.

"You haven't had visitors because it's not allowed, not when a patient's mind is still fragile," the nurse explains. "You've been susceptible to triggers ever since you were admitted here. Seeing people who might negatively stimulate your mind would have been detrimental, possibly even destructive..."

Right. Makes sense. Felix narrows his eyes and sighs. "I feel like I'm in a non-place..."

"What do you mean?"

"As if this place doesn't exist... If I opened my eyes and found myself back in that damned courtroom, I wouldn't be surprised. This place feels like a strange vision."

"I think that's the Valium," the nurse laughs.

"Valium?"

"It's a pretty powerful anti-anxiety medication. It can sometimes leave you feeling a bit groggy."

Of course, Felix knew what Valium was. He'd been a dealer. However, throughout his captivity, he'd never considered something so obvious... Valium isn't just a tranquilizer: in large doses, it causes amnesia; it's used in surgical medicine for precisely that purpose. Furthermore, keeping someone on Valium for too long, whether to sedate them or induce amnesia, leads to dependence. However, by its nature, Valium withdrawal effects tend to fade quickly. It all fits together so perfectly...

"I think I've been on Valium for months," Felix says, almost ironically, letting out an amused huff. He expected the nurse to laugh too, but instead, she just says: "That's right. Ever since you were arrested, you've been kept on Valium therapy."

"Will I get back all the memories I lost?"

"Unlikely. Some might come back, but others are lost forever..."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"Yes, I really think so," says the nurse.

"But I still want to know."

"Do you really?"

Felix nods. The nurse stretches out her legs. She's wearing light white stockings. She's pretty. Soft. Kind. Felix feels something for her. Maybe he's even infatuated. Maybe she's simply the first nice, healthy woman he's encountered in what feels like a lifetime. Except for the hostile ones, of course.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I can talk to the doctor. If he thinks you're ready..."

Free will. Felix has almost forgotten what that is. He can't make decisions for himself. The one time he did, though, it turned out okay. He survived the hanging.

"How does Valium work?"

"Hm?"

"Can I forget something I want to forget?"

The nurse laughs. "No. When you take Valium, receptors in your hippocampus are inhibited. So, what you experience while under its effects isn't recorded by your memory, or it's recorded only partially, vaguely, confusedly—but that's rarer. Generally, it causes anterograde amnesia, meaning amnesia for events that happen after taking the drug."

So the memory of those people hanging on the wall, rotting, will stay with him forever. Fantastic. Just what he wanted to hear.

"Would you want to know?"

"What?"

"Everything that happened to me. Why I'm here. What I really went through. If you were me, would you want to know?"

The nurse thinks for a moment before answering. "I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe I'd try to start over from scratch and see how it goes. After all, isn't forgetting a horrible period almost a gift?"

Felix thinks about it. Maybe. But he's not convinced.

"I guess it's easy to say that when you already know the whole story."

"Yes, perhaps you're right."

"I don't think I can ever truly start anything if I don't know what happened to me. I'll just keep thinking about it, wondering. I'll be living in a past I don't know, instead of the present."

"That's understandable."

"I really want you to talk to the doctor about this."

"I will."

"And I want you to stop giving me Valium."

The nurse is quiet for a moment.

"You'd end up hurting yourself."

"I can't live under the influence of drugs forever."

"Don't worry about that," the nurse says. "One day you'll be able to manage without it. Not soon, though. Small doses are necessary to prevent you from becoming violent towards yourself. You're not the person you used to be, you know that, right? What you've been through is comparable to a soldier returning from war. It will take years. Lots and lots of therapy. Don't force things ahead of time. The Valium isn't your enemy here."

Felix says nothing. No point arguing. Doctors love prescribing drugs, and nurses love administering them. It would have been bizarre to get a different answer.

"Will you really talk to him?"

"I already told you. I will."

"Can I ask one more thing?"

"Of course."

"Do you know who Hyunjin is?"

The nurse nibbles her lower lip.

"Everyone knows who Hyunjin is."

Felix narrows his eyes. The sunlight dazzles him for a moment. "Why?"

"Let's just say his father is a big shot, very famous. His mother too, for different reasons. There were high expectations for Hyunjin."

Were. She used the past tense. Felix notices this immediately.

"'Were?'" he repeats, pressing her.

"I don't really know how it all works. I'm just a nurse, not a Council member."

"Who are those people? The Council?"

The nurse sighs. "I really shouldn't..."

"I'm not asking about my memories. I just want to know more."

"They're members of an alternative government."

"An alternative government?"

"Yes, well... A sort of worldwide governmental institution. There are various members from all over the world, different bodies and agencies, even complex networks of legislation. There are some things official governments can't handle because public opinion would revolt, and nobody likes a coup d'état. So the WAG handles it. Worldwide Alternative Government. Nobody knows, no news leaks out, nobody complains."

Felix is silent.

"Here, we're in a militarized WAG zone. This hospital, the place you were before, the court... There are many places like this around the world."

"Is Hyunjin's father part of this government?"

"Let's say yes. He has a minor role but influential connections within it. They're mainly part of something else, though. An elite Masonic-style circle specializing in collecting living works of art."

Felix is sure the woman is messing with him. Nothing she's saying makes any sense. He waves a hand dismissively in the air. "That's enough. You're giving me a headache."

The nurse laughs. "Were you hoping for something more scandalous?"

"I was hoping for something more realistic."

"You don't believe me?" the nurse says, feigning offense.

"Not a word."

"How impudent! Oh—it's getting late. Almost time for your medication. Let's head back inside," she says, then unfolds a wheelchair. Felix eyes the contraption with hostility.

"I'd rather walk."

"And I'd rather not have to pick you up off the ground after a crisis. Sit down, stop making a fuss."

Felix gets up from the grass. Birds chirp cheerfully among the tree branches. This psychiatric hospital is the nicest place he's ever been—the idea of playing crazy convincingly enough to stay here forever tempts him.

But deep down, he's already spent far too long in this place.

It's time to try and piece the puzzle together.

Hoping he doesn't end up breaking again along the way.

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