Warning: My main thread of this story takes some dark turns. Reader discretion is advices.
He woke in a dizzy confused state. The kind where the room doesn't seem familiar for a moment. Only this time it was more than a moment. And it wasn't a room. More like a metal coffin? Or inside an MRI machine. A robotic voice spoke in a voice full of static.
“Prisoner #143 identity deletion complete. All prior records destroyed. Subject's memory wipe complete. Body alteration complete. Metabolism alteration complete. Aging process suspended to allow for full sentence...” It kept going with updates that he was too disoriented to follow.
The claustrophobic machine opened up and he was let out. He couldn't remember who he was or where he was. There was no one present to answer any questions. Just a bare cube like room with a solid door and this bulk of a machine he'd been inside.
He looked at himself as best he could in the reflections of the chrome machine. He was naked. Male. Slender. He guessed reasonably young, but that was hard to estimate from the distorted surface. He wasn't very big or strong anyway. He appeared to have blue hair for some reason. Maybe an effect from the machine. He was sure it had done something to his head. His eyes were brown. Other than that, there wasn't much he could say.
He thought back to what the machine had been saying. He'd been disoriented so he'd missed some of it. It had called him a prisoner. That wasn't good. Prisoner #143. Alright, until he knew more, that's was his name. #143. Not a very good name. So dehumanizing.
The room was a bit chilly. He hoped they'd bring him some clothes soon, whoever “they” were. #143 looked about the room for more clues and found a small metal box marked “#143 uniform.” #143 opened it to find a single square of plain dark cloth with his number tag sown into a corner. This was his uniform? It was barely a hand towel. When he wrapped it about his waist, it was barely large enough to tie off. Hardly even a loincloth. A small tug and the precarious knot would unravel with ease. #143 bit his lip uncertainly. If he was so low regarded to not even warrant proper clothes, how much trouble was he in?