Chin

One

I went under the knife the morning I arrived in South Korea. "Now count backwards from ten", said the anesthetist. I was so heavily drugged that when I regained consciousness, it took me a long time to realise I had woken up in a different location. I would later come to learn that I had been moved to an isolated medical facility and I was being held under heightened security. The medical company's customer service rep, an over-earnest little bundle of nerves named Jenny seem to have lost all her initial congeniality. My nurse was more like an ex-professional wrestler. "Where am I?" I croaked.
"You are safe," said Jenny the medical consultant. "There were....complications but now you are safe. You must sleep".

Two

As I slowly became more familiar with my surroundings, I also began to realise there were no mirrors in my room and that my face and head were tightly bandaged. Of course, this was of some concern to me considering I had originally signed on for a simple jaw augmentation.

Three

Three times a day pain medication was administered through an IV drip. When I asked my doctor or Jenny questions such as where this facility was located, where my phone was or when could I leave, they would simply up the dosage. When this happened I would nod out and stop worrying about attaining the answers to these questions. When I touched my face, inadvertently or otherwise, they would appear at my bedside and restrain my hands, saying, "We must allow healing to occur. Do not touch.". Through the window, I could see a distant line of winter trees raking the edges of a slate coloured sky. At 3 pm every afternoon, the IV released another dose of medication into my system regardless of my behaviour and an explosion of pleasure would hit the back of my brain, simmering me right down.

Four

How long had I been asleep? This was a question I kept asking myself. When they finally removed the bandages, the extent of my facial reconstruction became apparent. I looked completely different. Chin, jawline, brow, nose...everything had been altered. My initial reaction was one of anger, fear, and defiance. Of course. I demanded an explanation. And when none was forthcoming, I tried to leave. I didn't get very far. So from this point on, I was forced to make the huge psychological adjustment to the fact I was being held against my will and that for some unknown reason my appearance had been drastically altered. I had a stranger's face.

Five

I would test the boundaries of my prison. With each subsequent attempt at escape, I would be restrained and returned to my room in a wheelchair by my ex-professional wrestler nurse. Each time I tried to escape or resist, I was punished. They would delay the cocktail of opiates that they were pumping through my system until I was sweating and pleading for relief from the withdrawal. The same thing went for their physical program which I was forced to participate in. This meant working with a personal trainer. "You must maintain muscle tone and prevent atrophy", said Jenny. In this way, they quickly trained me to be completely obedient yet physically strong.

Six

Once my face was healed, they changed my medication. "You will have nice sleep with no dreams now", said the nurse. At first, I felt the usual narcotic rush but this time, instead of floating off into the hazy either, I blacked out completely. This began to happen on a regular basis. It was difficult to know exactly how much time elapsed during these blackouts although I began to get the distinct feeling that great chunks of my life were being stolen away from me. When I regained consciousness, it was like surfacing from a swimming pool full of crude black oil.

Seven

One time I was covered in sweat, sitting in the chair by the window when I surfaced. The time after that I had a new tattoo on my arm. And the time after that, I had another tattoo, this time on my neck. Each time I surfaced I would find two or three fresh tattoos on my body. Images of knives, skulls, stars and spider webs. Outside the window, the seasons begin to change. The snow melted. The trees gained and then lost their foliage. Then the cycle began again. I surface out of the black with more tattoos. With deep scratches on my face. I surfaced completely exhausted. I surfaced with my face covered in tears. I surfaced with the growing certainty that large sections of my life were being lost in a chemical void. I surfaced with stitches in my head. In the mirror, the stitches looked like a black centipede crawling across my scalp. I came to with a hole in my bicep. I surfaced with the lingering sensation of an excess of adrenaline burning off. I surfaced with partial hearing loss in one ear. With a urinary tract infection. With a broken finger. I surfaced with jet lag. I came to shaking with grief and something that felt like PTSD.

Eight

What are the missing prices? Are they nice dreams? Or bad ones? The medication was so heavy there was no way I could tell. An animal in captivity adapts and learns to live in its cage. This is what I did. I stopped questioning. I stop worrying about the missing pieces. Or whose face I had. Or why I was being held captive in this remote mountainous medical facility. Or why I was covered in tattoos that looked like they had been taken from a spooky children's book. It is amazing what you can get used to. This new pattern light and dark, of what is known and what is not, went on for a while. Then, one day, everything changed.

Nine

At first, I heard what sounded like distant fireworks. As this noise got closer, I realized the rapid succession popping sounds was probably automatic gunfire. Still, it didn't matter. The only thing I worried about at that moment was who was going to administer my three o'clock fix? Through a side window, I saw four staff members in a different part of the building, people who had become familiar to me, become grotesquely animated by automatic weapon fire before they dropped dead to the ground. At this point, I decided I should probably escape. I got up and started moving. I kept moving away from the sound of gunfire and explosions. Something had compromised the facility's central electronic locking system. I walked out a side access door, crossed a field and then moved into the woods I'd seen from my window. I was wearing my standard daytime tracksuit which did not provide sufficient warmth against the elements at that time of year. Dead leaves crumbled beneath my feet. Branches scraped at my face. In recent times, I had been permitted to walk in these woods but only when accompanied by my lumbering ex-professional wrestler nurse. As I progressed deeper into the woods, I noticed the shadow of what looked like large scarab beetle moving across the ground. This turned out to be a drone hovering silently above the treetops, tracking my movements with ease. After twenty minutes, I came to a logging road. And as I came out of the vertical maze of tree trunks, I realized that there were men in ski masks waiting to meet me.

Ten

I was sitting in a perfectly ordinary office with a desk, two wing chairs, a lamp and a door. The walls were divided into grid patterns by dark wood panelling and there was a coffered ceiling overhead. Several pictures of woodland scenes hung in the place of windows. A man entered the room and sat behind the desk. He was dressed in a suit. I noticed for the first time that I was restrained. "Now I will talk and you will listen", said the man. "I will tell you what has been happening. You can ask questions later but for now, I would prefer for you to listen and then save questions for the end, yes? This will save time. It will help me explain these things without obstruction. Okay? Okay....here we go.....So you have been given the face of a well-known Russian Oligarch's first and only son.....Vladamir Aleksey Vasiliev. You have his same age and bone structure so you were a good...how you say? Template? The people who did this to you, they are the sworn enemies of my employer, understand? So, they have given you Vladamir's face exactly, down to smallest mole and they have also given you exact copies of Vladamir's tattoos.....These are traditional Russian criminal tattoos....only Vladamir was never in gulag or was he a real gangster. The tattoos were like designer tattoos to make young Vladamir feel like tough guy for ladies in Moscow discotheque.... When he was taking Instagram photos of himself and showing off. Basically, Vladamir is spoiled rich playboy. He was sent to the best schools...etc, etc.....between you and me....he is lazy little shit but he is not a psychopath".

At this point, the man in the suit took a sip of water and cleared his throat before continuing.
"Now.....speaking of 'psychopaths'....after you were made into splitting image of Vladimir....into walking, talking forgery......you were a very busy boy, doing many bad things. So many bad things. How you say? They have given you 'Scopolamine'...you know 'Scopolamine'?....anyway it is very powerful drug made from the Borrachero tree, from the flower of this tree. The enemies of my employer have made a new compound combining Scopolamine and Phencyclidine. Or PCP. This compound I refer to made you very....easy to control....'suggestible' is perhaps better English word, yes? Anyway.... you were very easy to control...like zombie but at the same time, also very aggressive. From what I understand, the trick is to not make subject too crazy and not too dopey, yes? You must get the balance right.....Okay, so now we take a break from talking. Now I will show you video footage. It will help you understand you what you have done. They say a picture tells a thousand words, yes? Well, now you will understand."

The man in the suit showed me a montage of security footage shot in different locations. He continued to comment while I watched myself doing things on the laptop screen, things I had no memory of. "Here you are robbing a bank in Zurich. Very violent.....Here you are a few weeks later assassinating famous philanthropist billionaire in France. Broad daylight. Bang bang! Not cool man. Everyone in the world liked that guy for his big humanitarian soft heart.....Here you are in pornographic movie made in a beautiful mansion. Undisclosed location. Big deal you say...except wait for it, keep watching....wait....porno movie has surprise ending, yes? The surprise is....porno becomes grizzly snuff movie with horrible scenes like from Caligula times.....Sex and death mixed together. Very sick stuff man. And the other actors? They did not know this. Look at genuine horror in this close up. You are worse than Idi Amin man! And there is more. Much more footage of you doing terrible things. The worst kind of things. And the whole time, you have the face of my employer's son....so you see? So, we have big problem. There were two Vladamir Aleksey Vasiliev's running around. You made him infamous when before he only used to be normal famous guy. You have taken his image and reputation and you have twisted it. You have made him into a nasty fellow. A monster. Imagine if Mr. George Cloonie went psycho-bonkers-ballistic. It is like this! Vladamir Aleksey Vasiliev already had many followers on social media before you hacked his account and began posting terrible pictures. So you see problem, yes?"

The man in the suit took another drink of water. I watched his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
"So....we have arrived at big question..." he continued, "....why ruin Vladamir Aleksey Vasiliev's public image? What is the purpose of this?.....I will tell you. The Oligarch, my famous employer, has many powerful enemies. And his enemies want to cause instability. They want to ruin Vasiliev family name for all history. Past history and future history. So these enemies decided to play with reality. Basically, they make a new type of reality TV. Imagine if famous Kardashian girl killed everyone with a chainsaw one day.....whoa! Big scandal! Is like that. And there are cameras are everywhere now. CCTV. Bystanders with cell phones.....for high-profile smear action, there is no need for camera crew because amateur footage of Vladimir went viral. This is how enemies destroyed my employer's family name and his future. No son, no continuation of family name.....Shame on family for all time. And father's reputation is forever stained by terrible son.....you see? This is revenge my employer's enemies made happen. This is what you have been doing, crazy boy....this is real reason you have been made into psycho version of Vladamir Aleksey Vasiliev.....So now what? You are asking yourself this, yes? Well, now we must make right what is wrong. Already we have taken control of the narrative....Of course, now Vladamir Aleksey Vasiliev is wanted man by Interpol and CIA....to name but a few agencies....so real Vasiliev has had face changed. Now he looks completely different. Now he has brand new secret life....and he will make babies in private to carry on family name. So what does this mean for you crazy boy? For the new narrative? Well....for public purposes you must remain Vladamir Aleksey Vasiliev forever. Understand? This is the only way. And Vladamir Aleksey Vasiliev must do public penance. He must be reformed. Any questions? No? Okay then....I think we are good".

It's hard to ask questions when you are wearing a ball gag.

Eleven

They kept me sedated throughout the trial. I eventually ended up in a place with white walls, industrial furniture and harsh strip lighting. Through the window, I can see the lights of a small industrial town and a grey river twisting through a patchy wooded landscape. They all think I am the criminal son of this famous Russian industrialist, this Oligarch. They said the trauma I went through had altered my hardwiring to such an extent that I lost my mother tongue. They say I am insane. Every day is pretty the same in here. The orderlies tell me that my rampage in the Kyoto theme park is still one of the most popular videos on YouTube. Well, at least the bits they can legally show. I have been encouraged to write this account of what happened in the hope that, once set down in black and white, I will recognize my story to be an intricately constructed paranoid delusion. I will endeavour to provide as much detail as I can. With this in mind, I will start at the beginning.

Twelve

In the beginning, I was a totally normal American guy. No, that's not exactly true. I was blessed with above average looks. My good looks carried me through my early life and college. I did some modelling on the side, to pay for my tuition. I enjoyed the attention. Eventually, I moved to a large city. I intended to keep working as a model. I began applying at agencies. After a few weeks in this city, I came to the realization that I was one of many above-average-looking people. My dreams of a lucrative modelling career began to falter. I ended up stuck in a very lowly, demeaning corporate job. I felt the one thing that consistently let me down in my modelling career was my chin. I felt my slightly underwhelming chin compromised the overall symmetry of my face. It began to really bother me. I began noticing chins in bars and down at the beach. Rock solid chins and cleft chins. Heroic and stoic chins. I began to research how I would go about improving my chin.
One day I received an email explaining that I'd won a competition, a competition I did not remember entering. The prize was a voucher for $6000 worth of plastic surgery to be performed by a famous cosmetic surgeon in South Korea. So I packed my bag and early one morning I headed to the airport.