You wake up.

You wake up.

This surprises you. Again. You are also surprised that you are surprised again. Waking up is something ordinary, but you do not remember having done it before the previous day. In fact, you do not remember anything before the previous day. This strikes you as stranger than waking up, and so you concentrate. You feel…disoriented. Woozy. Nauseous. But you do achieve a sort of half-memory, a hazy feeling of being confined for a very, very long time.

You decide it is time to open your eyes. As you do, the nausea recedes, as does the half-forgotten memory of your confinement. You give it no more thought. It is not important. What is important is what is around you.

You are lying on cool metal tiles. They feel pleasing to the skin of your warm, warm body. A short distance away, you see a jagged, shimmering edge of glass where the metal tiles are fused with sand. Staring at that glittering border, you slowly climb to your feet, and look around in confusion.

There is no sign of the strange room with the tank and the broken machinery in which you had awoken the previous day. In fact, there is no sign of any structure anywhere around you. You appear to be in a vast, barren wasteland, full of tan sand and brown, cracked mud. You are on top of a hill, and from your vantage point, you can see mountains in the distance and the empty plains that lead to them. On the other side of the hill, there are no landmarks to mar the horizon except for a dark smudge just on the edge of sight, almost impossible to distinguish from the land around it. What sparse vegetation you see on the plains around is sickly and dying, and you see no sign of life anywhere.

The sun beats down on you as you think, trying to decide what to do next. Should you stay on this hilltop, with the strange circle of metal tiles? Should you go towards the mountains, hoping for a more hospitable climate? Or should you head towards the smudge on the horizon? You decide that you cannot stay where you are. Something about the small uneven circle upon which you stand fills you with a deep uneasiness. Besides which, you are very, very warm, bordering on hot, and decide to seek some shade. Figuring the dark smudge on the horizon appears the most likely to be shielded from the sun, you turn towards it-just in time to catch a glimpse of motion from the corner of your eye.

In the distance, an indistinct, shadowy form rises up into the harsh, yellow sky, silhouetted against the smaller of the suns framed therein. You raise a hand to shield your eyes-but swiftly realize that won't be necessary. The shape is moving towards you.

As it does, you decide that it would be a very, very good time to get off the hill.

You turn and try to run down the side opposite the approaching shadow, but end up falling and sliding to the bottom in a great cloud of dust. As you do, your ears pick up a faint sound-a terrifying, haunting shriek, almost musical. It starts off high pitched, drops an octave, rises again, and then trails off. Out of instinct, you make yourself as small as possible, and try to blend in with a dead shrub near where you had fallen.

As you do, a large shadow falls over the hill. Glancing upward, you freeze, a trickle of sweat running down between the shoulder blades of your warm, warm body. The shape you had seen speeding towards you was no longer an indistinct shadow. Nor was it very far away.

Rather, it was crouched on the hilltop, staring down at you with six very red, very predatory eyes.

The creature was massive. It barely fit atop the hill you had just fallen down. Its skin was leathery, albeit a very odd sort of leather-parts of it seemed to be almost scaled, while others had definite horny protrusions, and still other parts seemed to be burned and peeling. It rose on two squat legs, and had thin, membranous wings-four of them, on thin appendages-sprouting from its shoulders. Or, rather, what would usually be the shoulders-the top of the oblong body. For its head protruded from the center of the body. An elongated snout full of sharp teeth that stabbed through both its upper and lower jaws, and were covered in blood. Three pairs of bright red eyes situated above, to either side of, and below the snout. And a series of odd tubes of stiff flesh-eight in total-jutting out of the side of the "face."

It was, in short, terrifying, and you cannot be totally certain you were in full control of your bladder at this point. It only became worse when it opened the snout and emitted the same sound you had heard earlier-the oddly musical shriek, except much, much louder now that it was up close.

You scramble backwards, away from your ineffectual concealment, furiously seeking a way out of this situation. The creature was easily four times your size, and obviously didn't conform to any rules of biology such as you understood them-you wouldn't even begin to know how to kill such a beast. Any hope of flight was squashed by the memory of how quickly it had reached the hill, and there was nowhere to hide on the flat plain surrounding the hilltop the creature had now claimed.

Suddenly, the tubes to either side of the behemoth's face begin to move, quivering and undulating, moving inward toward the snout. In a display both awe-inspiring and disgusting, they attached to either side of the snout, bunching under it-and then shooting it outward at incredible velocity. You just barely manage to roll away as jagged teeth impale space you had previously  occupied, supported by a giant wad of flexing, tubular flesh connecting them back to the monster-for, you were now sure, this creature was indeed some sort of storybook monster given flesh.

Foundation Researcher's Note: This was the Cyphus unit's first experience with the fauna of this world. Having no previous memory, it is interesting to note that the Cyphus unit designated this beast-known as the Archidus Rex to the Foundation, and more commonly called a Winged Chimera-as a monster, especially since those in captivity have proven remarkably docile with the right manipulations, even being used as workbeasts. See the bestiary entry for further details.

You feel hopeless. There is no fighting this sort of monster. It is faster, stronger, larger, and infinitely more fearsome than you are. However, you refuse to die on your back. You place your right hand to the ground-and feel an intense surge of heat, followed by piercing cold from the bracelet on your wrist. You move to draw your hand back, certain you have been burned, and find yourself clutching something long and shining. Your contemplation of this item and where it came from, however, are quite rudely interrupted by another attempt on your life-something that, rather than terrifying you, now simply annoys you. You briefly note the change in attitude, but find that it doesn't matter nearly as much as the fact that you are now on your feet without remembering having stood, or the fact that you are charging at a creature you were certain moments before would kill you.

The beast itself seems rather surprised to see what it must have considered to be a meal charging at it rather than trying to run away. However, it is confident in its greater size, reach, and speed, and simply lunges at you once more. You throw yourself to the side, skidding and throwing up a puff of dust, and swing the metallic object in your hand at the creature-scoring a long, deep cut in the tubing supporting its jaws.

The creature makes its shrieking noise once more, but now there is definitely a note of pain in the alien voice. You stare in wonder at the object in your right hand. It is long and narrow, made entirely of a shiny metal, with two sharp edges that come together to a point. The blade-for it is indeed a form of sword-attaches to a metal cylinder with an odd texture of grooves on the surface, which fits perfectly in the palm of your hand, with no guard between the grip and blade. On the surface of the metal is scratched one word, in the same style as your bracelet:

Cyphus.

Suddenly you feel a surge of confidence. You are no longer frightened. You are no longer annoyed. You no longer question your own control over your bladder. Rather, you are confident, and determined that you will not die in this arid wasteland, killed by some nameless beast as dinner. You refuse to be something's meal.

The behemoth seems to have recovered from the shock of being harmed by something so much smaller than it, and with a sweep of all four of its wings, it takes to the air. You are buffeted by the rush of wind, but easily keep your feet, and as it ascends, you dash to the top of the hill, and stab upwards-feeling your blade puncture the leathery, burned flesh of one of its legs. He-from this angle, you can definitely tell it’s a he, far more intimately than you would like-bellows his musical cry once more, and soars upward with astounding speed. You feel a slight amount of concern as you are dragged upward as well. Apparently, your blow was a little too solid, and your sword is now caught in the creature's flesh.

At least, until the beast performs a sharp, mid-air turn, flinging you off of it-sword and all-two hundred feet above the ground.

As the ground plummets upward to meet you, you spin around, facing the beast that is diving after you, maw extended, and desperately search for some option, short of becoming a pancake or being eaten midair. You begin to panic, your earlier confidence vanishing. This is not how you want to die. You don't want to die at all. You spin in the air, searching for some escape, feeling hot despite the wind rushing past you. In fact, you feel very hot. Hotter than is entirely normal. Hot enough that your metal bracelet seems to be burning into your hot, hot skin, burning in its coldness against your heat. Desperate, flailing, falling, you close your eyes just before you reach the ground, feeling the cold and the heat battling inside your body-

But you don't strike the ground. Instead, you open your eyes to find yourself standing on something dark grey, burned and leathery, holding your sword with both hands, poised to ram it downward. By instinct, you do, and feel the mound you are standing upon thrash and quiver. You hold to the sword for your life as the thrashing grows in intensity, and then, suddenly, subsides.

Standing cautiously, you survey your surroundings. You are standing atop the creature you were just fighting. Its wings lay spread, to either side of you. You seem to have stabbed your sword down through its back, towards the top of the beast-its legs protrude behind you, the left one still bleeding profusely from where you injured it. You yank out your sword, noting that the slime and blood and excrement that covers it is a dark purple color, and slide down the side of the creature. It doesn't stir. You are reasonably certain it is dead.

Relief sweeps through you, along with confusion, along with amazement. You do not understand what just happened. You do not understand anything. And as you stare at the empty scarlet orbs of the beast that just tried to kill you, a rolling wave of nearly unbearable exhaustion rises within you. You gasp, and drop your sword, and sit down on the dusty, cracked mud, leaning back against the body of your first kill. You are dimly aware that the sword you just dropped is glowing-and then, that it is no longer there. But mostly, you do not care. You do not care about anything. You do not understand anything. All that matters in the universe is five simple words.

In order to stimulate interest in the Cyphus Project research, audiologs will now be retouched to add extraneous audio tracks-what PR are referring to as "mood music." This is in the hopes that it will make research into the Cyphus Project more entertaining and enjoyable for researchers, and draw new researchers of Adrenal level and higher. Please forward the memorandum on to all Foundation personnel assigned to the Cyphus Project research, as well as any researchers with proper clearance who may have an interest in this project.

You wake up. This surprises you. You are not sure why, but you feel as though waking were not something ordinary. In fact, it seems distinctly unordinary in this moment.

You face pitch blackness. A void of incomprehensible depth. You can feel the movement of your body, the steady heartbeat and twitching movements of live muscles, but you see nothing.

Sight. That reminds you. And by reflex, you perform a certain muscular twitch which will have very large ramifications for you.

Suddenly light floods into your perception, and you realize your eyes had been closed. How could you not have realized this? It is a simple thing. Yet, you did not. You feel as though you should be concerned by this, but more immediate matters swiftly seize your attention.

You are looking upward through a distorted view. The light is dim. It is difficult to make out any details of your surroundings. You shift as though to raise your arm, but it hardly moves before encountering resistance. Puzzled, you try the movement again. A faint *plink* sound reaches your ears, drawing your attention to the rest of your body. You realize you are warm. Very warm. You try to shift, to circulate some air, but you cannot budge more than a few inches.

You realize that you are trapped.

This thought causes you to panic, and you begin to thrash as much as you can in your limited space. You beat your hands against the distortion in front of you-what you now recognize as a sheet of glass covering the front of your body. You feel cool metal under and around the sides of your very warm body. You realize you are in some kind of tank, or tube. This thought frightens you further. You close your eyes and yell, only now conscious of your own voice, and struggle as hard as you can. You feel as though your body is warm, warmer than it should be, except for one small cool spot near your right hand, but you can't think about it now you just have to escape, escape…

And suddenly, as you go to strike out at the glass once more, you feel nothing but cool air. Your arm extends fully in front of you, and you take a deep breath of musty air. You are confused. You open your eyes.

The distortion-the glass-is gone. Instead, you are looking out into a very odd room. Metal tiles make up the floor and ceiling, and the walls are all smooth sheets of shiny steel. You seem to be situated in the center of the room, facing the wreckage of what seems to be a row of odd machinery. You turn your head to see more of this strange room, but see only a metal wall with a tube in it.

Right. You are still inside the tank. You decide to step forward.

Immediately upon moving your leg you collapse outward onto the cold, dusty metal tiles, falling upon your hands and knees. Puzzled, you look beneath you, then behind you, before finally understanding. You were not lying down inside the tank. You were standing. You are also very tired. This you do not understand. Perhaps you were struggling against the glass longer than you thought? Regardless, you are tired. You sit up, and rest your back against a corroded metal desk in front of your tank.

This allows you to see the rest of the very strange room.

There are broken pieces of machinery everywhere, with exposed wires and components spilling out of them. Monitors are attached to many of the walls, hanging at odd angles, glass broken out and in general disrepair. The tank you were lying in is in the very center of the room, and is supported by truly astounding numbers of tubes and wires of all sizes running from the ceiling and floor into the tank. You see no doors in the room, no way in or out, only unending stretches of cold steel wall, broken machinery, and the single tank.

Thinking of doors reminds you. What happened to the glass that made the front of the odd tank? You stand, and step forward, more steady on your feet now. You are growing used to the feeling of your body, the reflexive movements of muscles in order to balance and walk and turn and observe. As you approach the tank, you can see no sign of the glass that had confined you. There are no hinges, no grooves it might have receded into. It is simply gone. You raise your right hand to feel the metal edge of the tank, where the glass sheet should have connected.

You notice something odd. You remember that there was a cool spot on your very warm body, and as you raise your arm, you see what it was. A worn, faded metal bracelet, made of a thin strip connected by sturdy chain. There are spots of rust on the chain, but the metal strip itself is still shiny. You raise your wrist to your face, and see that there are letters crudely scratched into the surface of the metal. They make up one word.

Cyphus.

This puzzles you. You do not know what it means. Is it a name? A place? A person? Finally you decide that, since the bracelet is on your arm, you must be Cyphus. It must be your name.

For some reason, this does not feel right. You frown. You squint at the bracelet. It catches the dim light, shining the single word up at you.

Cyphus.

A sunburst flares behind your eyes. You drop to your knees yet again as your head fills with pounding pain. Eyes streaming tears, you open them again to see that one word, Cyphus-your name. But as you think the word "name," a soft whisper seems to speak directly into your mind. You hear, "Daniel." Daniel? What is this Daniel? You are Cyphus. The bracelet says so. Daniel is nobody. Nothing. You are Cyphus.

As quickly as it came, the pain disappears. You are on the ground, on your knees. You do not remember how you got there. You do not remember anything. You do not know anything. You are Cyphus.

You stand, understanding that you must exit this room, but not knowing how you understand this. It does not matter. You move to the burnished steel wall of the room. It is circular, so that there is only one wall. There is no door. You walk around the entire room, just to be sure. There is no door. However, at one of the desks, you find something you did not realize you had been lacking until now: clothing. Sturdy black boots, long tan pants, a navy shirt and a brown vest with many, many pockets. This pleases you. You realize that the room is chill, and your warm, warm body does not appreciate the cold. You take a moment to put these clothes on.

You return to the center of the room, feeling a sense of despair. The wall is all one piece. There is no door. You do not know how to escape, but the need for it, the urgency of the desire seems to press more heavily against you. You spin in a circle, desperately searching for something you may have missed. There is nothing. Nothing but the beating of your heart drumming against your mind, beating, beating, beating, pushing you onward, demanding that you find a way out, panic creeping up into your throat. You feel constricted, restrained, and hot, so, so hot, hotter than you can bear, hotter than is reasonable in such a cold room. You close your eyes tightly and fight against the rising panic but instead begin to feel pain as if your entire body were on fire, burning, except for the one spot on your right arm that seems to be growing colder and colder and as you scream against your confinement and the pain in your body you begin to wonder if this is what it feels like to die,  the biting cold on your wrist against this heat, this horrible, terrible heat as you feel like your body is bursting into flame-

And then it is gone. You open your eyes. The walls of the strange room have disappeared, as have the broken pieces of machinery and dim light. As has your tank. You are looking out on a vast stretch of barren wasteland-sand and cracked mud flats as far as the eye can see. There are mountains in the distance. It is night. There are many stars in the sky. What sparse vegetation surrounds you is brown, sickly, dying. You look down. In a jagged circle around you, there are the same metal tiles that made up the floor of the strange room. The edges of this small circle glitter and shine, and looking closely, you can see that the metal is fused with glass in uneven patterns where it meets the sand of the wasteland you now seem to be in. You do not understand this. You do not understand anything.

Suddenly, a deep, rolling wave of exhaustion passes through you. You fall once again to your knees, and then onto your side, unable to stand. Sensation leaves you. Thought is blotted out of your mind. There is only one thing left, five words with any meaning in the universe: