Sergei Vladimir's memory right was spotty at best. Snippets went through his mind, one memory incongruously chasing another, none of them helping him regain himself now.
He was in a room.
The room was cold. His skin felt cold. The air was clear, but close. It smelled of chemicals and metal.
The name- it was unfamiliar, at least right now. A hazy flash of a bitter little face, framed by blond hair that was in need of a cut streaked through his mind and was gone.