You probably know the feeling of being abruptly torn from the depths of sweet, heavy sleep—the kind of sleep you fall into when you're utterly drained. That was exactly what Ethan felt.
Water splashed across his face. Cold. Biting. The shock jolted him awake, his eyes flying open to meet darkness. The air smelled damp and metallic, like rust and rot.
Rain pattered softly against the cracked concrete beneath him, its rhythmic tapping unnervingly calming. He blinked, disoriented, taking in his surroundings.
Narrow alley walls loomed on either side, suffocating, worn down by time and neglect. Light trickled faintly from somewhere far off, a distant glow reflecting in puddles like broken shards of a forgotten memory.
He shivered as the rain continued soaking him, washing away the dirt but offering no relief. Where… was he?
His head turned sharply, eyes darting left and right as panic bloomed in his chest. Dark alley. Rundown buildings. No sounds except for the steady rain. Bewilderment gripped him like a vice.
Why the hell was he here? Alone? More importantly—who was he?
He looked down at himself and frowned. His clothes were ragged, torn at the seams, dusty but now streaked clean by the rain.
Faded fabric clung to his skin like they didn't belong. He pressed his temples as a dull throb spread across his skull.
Think. Think, dammit.
Nothing. A void stretched behind his eyes, black and impenetrable. His mind was a blank slate. No name, no history—just... emptiness.
And yet, he knew things. He remembered how to walk, the need for clothes, the concept of taking a shower if you stink. Normal, basic things that anyone should know. But anything specific? Anything about himself?
Gone.
A fresh spike of pain lanced through his head, sharp and sudden, like he'd been struck. He winced, pressing his fingers harder against his temples. Every time he tried to reach for a memory, the pain threatened to split him in half.
His breathing quickened. He stumbled to his feet, swaying slightly as his surroundings tilted. The alley seemed to close in on him, suffocating. The rain picked up, drumming harder now, almost mocking him.
What the hell was happening?
Ethan staggered toward the mouth of the alley, his shoes scraping on the concrete. He emerged into a chaotic rush of noise and motion—and froze.
Cars.
His mind spat the word out instinctively. The hulking machines sped past him on the street, splashing through puddles, headlights flashing. The noise hit him like a punch to the gut. Honks. Shouts. The murmur of countless voices.
The world spun. His head pounded, the pain doubling as the cacophony settled into his skull like needles. Too loud. Too bright. Too much.
He staggered forward into the street, his head splitting open with agony. Tires screeched. A horn screamed.
"Watch it, you idiot!" someone yelled.
Ethan didn't care. Couldn't care. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the wet pavement, hands clutching his head as though he could hold it together.
"Stop," he rasped, his voice hoarse and broken. "Make it stop. Please."
But the pain didn't listen. It intensified, red-hot and unbearable, like a fire raging in his brain. He felt the stares of people around him—felt their judgment, their fear—but their voices were muffled, drowned under the pounding in his ears.
He got to his feet, staggering. He ran.
The world blurred. Faces, streets, lights—they all smeared together as he sprinted through the rain-soaked city.
He didn't know where he was going. He only knew he needed to move. To get away from the noise, the pain, the nothingness that sat where his memories should be.
Flashes of memories struck like lightning behind his eyes. Blood.
A crimson smear on a wall. Screaming—high-pitched, desperate.
Then a laugh. Soft, innocent, a child's laughter echoing eerily through the dark.
Ethan gasped, stumbling over his feet. He grabbed a lamppost to steady himself, blinking hard as the world swam back into focus.
The laugh lingered in his ears, tugging at something deep inside him. It meant something. Someone. Someone important.
But when he tried to hold onto it—tried to pull the memory closer—there was nothing. Just emptiness.
The pain stopped. The pounding in his head receded like a distant tide. He stood there, panting in the rain, staring blankly at the street.
Neon lights buzzed and blinked overhead, glaring through the mist. Signs flashed above shops, bars, and restaurants—familiar yet alien.
The city was alive. A writhing, chaotic thing. Ethan felt like a ghost walking through it, invisible and forgotten.
He kept moving, his steps slow and aimless, his mind too exhausted to fight anymore. A sense of dread gnawed at him, whispering that none of this was random. That there was something he needed to remember.
A buzzing sound snapped him out of his daze. He glanced to his right and froze.
A bank. Its sleek glass doors slid open and shut as people hurried in and out. A panel glowed faintly near the entrance—a facial recognition scanner.
Ethan didn't know why he did it, but he stepped closer. The scanner's cool light swept across his face.
The device buzzed.
"Error: Unidentified."
Red light flared.
Ethan blinked, his chest tightening. The security officer standing nearby looked up sharply. Their eyes locked. For a moment, the officer didn't move.
Ethan felt his blood go cold.
The officer's hand drifted toward his radio. Silent alarms blinked somewhere unseen. A knot twisted in Ethan's stomach. He turned on his heel and walked away—fast.
He could hear the officer speaking into the radio now, though the words were lost to the noise of the street. It didn't matter. Ethan didn't need to hear them.
He knew.
Someone was coming.
The rain fell harder as he slipped into the crowd, his mind racing with questions he couldn't answer. Why didn't the scanner recognize him? Why couldn't he recognize himself?
The world around him blurred again as panic clawed at his throat. Somewhere, in the depths of his fractured mind, the child's laughter echoed softly, haunting him.
And Ethan knew this was just the beginning, but right now, he had to disappear. And fast.