December 7th 1941

"HELLO, NBC. This is KGU in Honolulu, Hawaii –"

The tinny sound of a radio report seeped into Zanzibar's subconscious. The words were muffled, to begin with – something about a roof and a Publishing Company building.

"Turn it up." Someone close by said. A woman, Zanzibar thought, going by the rather delicate timbre. Sounds of metal on metal and a squeak of castors rolling across wooden flooring followed, and then the radio voice boomed.

"We have witnessed this morning the distant view of the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese."

Zanzibar's body ached; ached in places he did not know he had. He wrestled toward consciousness, fighting his way to the here and now, but something was preventing him from reaching full wakefulness. He groaned.

"The patient!" the same woman's voice said. "Quick, make sure he – she is settled. We don't want her falling out the bed."

Patient? She? Were they referring to him? Vaguely, Zanzibar heard soft-soled feet crossing the floor. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw the blurred vision of someone in white leaning over him.

"Honestly! What a time you choose to wake up," said the person, another female. 

Zanzibar's head wobbled as - he assumed - pillows were being plumped and sorted behind him. His whole body was then nudged and shunted a little, then he felt suddenly restricted, confined; trapped.

"That's fine! Come on. We have to hear this," the first voice said, impatient, panicked.

The radio crackled with static, and the report continued. "The city of Honolulu has also been attacked, and considerable damage was done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours..."

"Oh, my God!" said the second voice. "All those poor people!"

"What is going on in here?" Another voice entered the room, this time a man.

"Doctor Johnson," the first female said. "Have you heard the news?"

"Yes, Sister Harris, I have. But you are here to look after our patient, Mister – um – Zanzibar, not to listen to the radio."

A brief silence ensued before the nurse spoke again. "Of course, Doctor Johnson, I apologise. Nurse Miller and I were tucking him – her - in when the news came on."

"Fair enough, but had he awoke just now, I think perhaps news about Pearl Harbor would only exacerbate his, um, condition."

Zanzibar groaned again, a feeling of unease starting to stir at the hospital staff's conflicting references to him, the patient. And damn it, he couldn't move now! Weak, unable to fully comprehend what was going on around him, he resigned himself to remaining still, but he peered through his lashes as Doctor Johnson stood beside his bed.

The doctor picked up a clipboard, his pen making dot-dot-dot noises, like morse code, as he scribbled some notes. "Has the patient regained consciousness yet? Said anything?" Doctor Johnson asked the nurses.

"No, doctor. Nothing coherent anyway," Sister Harris confirmed. "He – the patient muttered something about a sorceress earlier."

"A sorceress?" the doctor asked, bemused.

"Yes, and also something about a black lion and a lynx! It has to be his medication causing these ramblings."

"Yes, most likely, Sister." Doctor Johnson shoved his pen into his top pocket then handed the clipboard to one of the nurses. "We better run some more tests. However, I think I will refer this one for psychoanalysis. I will need to speak with the people who brought him in."

"Yes, Doctor."

Zanzibar heard all three leave the room, and the door closed behind them. So, he now knew he was in a hospital. What was wrong with him was still a mystery, but the Doctor was going to refer him for psychoanalysis? And what were the nurses on about? A black lion, a lynx and a sorceress?

He knew one thing – he was uncomfortable. Wrestling against the restraints of the severely tucked in blankets, he wriggled his arms free and took a few moments to try and collect his thoughts. A veil slowly started to lift from his drug-infused mind.

He felt too warm and pushed the sheet down, the cool air of the ventilated room welcoming on his skin. He glanced down to see if he had any injuries.

The ability to breathe was momentarily lost to him. No injuries were visible; nothing was missing. But, he had gained something. Two beautiful, firm, rounded breasts!

Then BOOM! The memories came flooding back.

The Sorceress of Zoom!