What if your life suddenly jump-starts at an airport, and you have no memory?

(Parallax (noun): The effect where the position or direction of an object appears to differ.)

This makes no sense. Fairbanks Alaska Airport?

The ankle chains clink on the sidewalk as Bradock tries to shuffle his feet in half-steps. He looks down, seeing his restraints. Hmph, handcuffs, too? This is getting better and better.

The two glass doors slide open in front of him, and he stumbles forward. Once inside, the hot air makes him lick his parched lips. An overwhelming thirst comes over him, like a sudden dust storm off the desert. What is happening?

"That's far enough, scumbag."

Something pulls hard on his shackled leggings. The marble floor comes up at him fast, his forearms taking the full force of his body weight. Pain; it's familiar, but he can't bring the memory in.

Exhausted; he doesn't know why, but the fatigue is as clear as the throbbing pain in his arms.

"Get up!" the first voice demands.

Bradock is yanked to his feet by his hair. A blunt shaft finds its way into his right kidney. The accompanying pain is becoming quite familiar now, but he's too tired to resist. He struggles forward, trying to maintain his balance.

In front of him, he sees a mirrored glass hallway displaying the latest in men's cologne, women's fashions, and men's apparel. The other sections are divided into convenience shops and eateries.

Oh, the smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon buns. It causes Bradock's stomach to cramp with a deep emptiness.

Trudging along beside the glass display windows, Bradock catches sight of his reflection. He looks haggard, drawn, fatigued, and ... What's that ...? On my left cheek? The letter C, and inside the C is an upside-down cross, burnt into his cheek! I ... don't ... remember ... He raises his shackled hands to touch the scarred, mottled skin.

Like the sound of a whip resonating through the air, something slashes down hard against his arm, sending a throbbing, shooting pain through his left side. It leaves his arm dangling, lifeless, without feeling, useless.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," the voice snarls.

Bradock turns back towards the glass. He sees a face behind him. Just for a moment, his tormentor's image flashes in the reflection of the glass. I know him. His name ... I know this man. Yes-Dawson! That's it-Dawson. A shudder of cold streaks through Bradock's spine. Where do I know him from? Why am I here? None of this makes any sense!

It's The Bourne Identity meets World War Z in this intense Sci-Fi, Suspense, Mystery Thriller.