I wake up with a splitting headache. I try to blink my eyes into focus so that I can get a good look at my surroundings. Once my eyes focus, I look around. I see that I'm hooked up to a heart monitor. I look down at my clothing. It's obvious that I'm wearing a hospital gown. My hair feels sticky. I reach for my head and feel wires from the leads sticking to my head from the neural monitors. The bed next to me is empty. I look out of the window and see that night has fallen. I look for the button so that I can call for some help. I find it and press it. Within a minute, a nurse comes in and is standing over my bed, a smile on her face.
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Thompson?” She asks pleasantly.
“Yeah,” I groan, “could I get some water and something to get rid this hellish headache? Also, could I get something to eat, I'm fucking starving.”
The nurse smiles again. “Certainly, Mr. Thompson, I'll bring you a menu with some water and aspirin. Anything else?”
I rub my forehead. “No, that'll do for now. Thank you.”
“You're welcome. I'll be right back.”
The nurse walks away and out of my room. I look down at the hospital bracelet on my left arm. The name on it says Ryan Thompson. It has all of the typical information. My birthdate, height, weight, known drug allergies. Somehow, though, none of this information clicks with me. My head feels like a jackhammer is pounding on it. I scan the room to look for any additional information that could give me clues as to why who I am and why I'm here, but to no avail.
A couple of minutes pass, and the nurse returns with the items I requested. I take the aspirin and swallow it down with the water. I look over the hospital menu and decide to order the cheeseburger and fries with two cans of tomato juice.
The nurse smiles at me. “Okay, dear, I'll bring it to you as soon as it's ready.” She tries to turn and leave, but I grab her smock tail. “What seems to be the problem?”
I shyly remove my hand. “Uh, nurse, perhaps you can tell me how I ended up here? I seem to have lost my memory. I can't remember anything prior to waking up.”
She grabs my chart off of the end of the bed. “Well, let's take a look. It says here you had to have brain surgery to repair some damaged tissue in your parietal lobe. I'm sure that your memory will come back to you in time.”
“What kind of damage?” I ask.
“That's something you'll have to ask the doctor in the morning. I don't have that information. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get your dinner.” The nurse turns and leaves my room once again.
My gut was telling me something wasn't right. So as soon as the nurse was far enough away from the door, I get out of bed. I make my way to the door and slowly open it. There is a guard posted on either side of my door. Am I prisoner? A criminal? What the hell is going on?
I start pulling all of the sheets and blankets off of both beds and tying the ends together. I open the window and look down below me. I'm lucky enough that the window below is also open, so I decide to take a chance. I look around for a safe place to tie off my makeshift “rope.” I decide to roll my hospital bed over to the window sill and lock it down. I tie one end of my escape line to the bed securely. I pull all of the monitor leads off of my body. This sets off all the alarms in the room and at the nurse's station. My guards burst into the room just as they see me shimmy down the line. They each fire off two rounds from their handguns, barely missing my head, hitting the glass of the window and shattering it.
I slide down the sheets and jump through the open window below me. I tuck and roll onto the floor. I quickly stand up and run through the room and out into the hallway. I look in both directions for either the elevator or stairs. I see an arrow pointing for the stairs, so I dart towards it. I follow the hallway around until I get to the doorway of the stairwell and open it. I look above me to see my pursuers running down to catch me. I run down the stairs a couple of floors and open the door to another hallway. I run down the hallway toward an empty elevator. I press the button, but don't get in. Hopefully, this will distract them into thinking that I went this way. I run down another hallway into another stairwell.
I get down all the way to the fourth floor where I'm stopped by four guards. They all had their handguns trained on me. “ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!” They shout. With no recourse, I do as I'm told. The four guards circle around me, being sure to keep their weapons trained on me. One of the guards steps behind me to put handcuffs on me. Big mistake. I elbow him in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. I grab him by the head and flip him over my shoulder, throwing the other three guards off-balance. Before they can recover, I kick all four of them and then snap their necks, instantly killing them. I grab one of their handguns, all of their magazines, and one of their gunbelts so I can hold all of this hardware as I make my escape.
I finally make it to the ground level into the parking garage and there are more guards. I check my equipment. Four magazines, fifteen rounds each. I might be able to get by, but they could be holding bigger guns. Possibly even wearing body armor. Do I risk a firefight? Fuck it, no risk, no reward. I take cover behind a cement pillar. My heart starts to race a little, so take a deep breath and let it out to calm myself. My heart slows down, and I'm at peace. I watch as the guards make their rounds around the parking facility. I look for patterns in their patrol. How do I know how to do all of this? What am I? Who am I? I start counting. It looks like there are eight, no, twelve guards patrolling the area. I bring the pistol up to eye level. I aim the sight squarely at his head. I take a deep breath and hold it. I slowly squeeze the trigger.
Bang! The gun fires, the bullet finds it's mark, and blood sprays like a punctured spray paint can as the guard drops like a marionette who's strings have been cut.
Now I know that shot just gave away my position, so it's time to move. I stay low to the ground as I move away from the pillar. Some of the guards move to the location of their fallen comrade while others move to where they heard the shot come from. I use the cover of darkness to stay out of sight as I move to the cover of a car. I slowly lean up against the car so as not to set off the alarm.
“Spread out! That fucker's gotta be around here somewhere! Keep your heads on a swivel!” One of the guards shouted.
A guard starts to walk by the car I was hiding behind. I punch him behind the knee and he drops like a stone. He tries to call out to his buddies, but I put my hand on his mouth. I twist his head and hear the bones in his neck pop like rice crispies. The breath from his nose disappears and his eyes roll back into his head. I pull the corpse behind the car next to me and decide to move from this location.
As I move across the parking garage, I accidentally kick an empty can. The noise rings out across the garage and gets the guards' attention.
“He's over there!” One of them shouts and fires his submachine gun in my direction. I hurl myself behind a car and pull out my handgun. I wait for a break in the firing so I can get out of cover long enough to fire a few rounds of my own. Once he stops, I raise up above the hood and fire off five rounds at his chest. All five hit and the guard drops to the ground.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
The remaining guards race over to the gunfight and open fire. We exchange shots back and forth until I've run out of ammunition. I throw the gun aside and hunker down, waiting to meet my end, or for the guards themselves to run out of ammo.
“Goddammit! I wish I had another gun!” I shout. I groan in pain as my headache flares and then there is a flash of light. In my hands, I'm holding a submachine gun of my own. Confused, I pull the magazine out. It's full. I put the mag back in and pull on the charging handle. Ready to fire, I aim the weapon at each guard and pull the trigger. Each burst of gunfire finds it's mark as guards drop like flies.
Once the the gunfight is over, the smoke starts to clear, and it's easy to see that I'm victorious.
I look down at my gun. “Guess I don't need this anymore.” I say. My headache flares again, and with another flash of light, my gun disappears.
“Well, that's fucking trippy.” I say. “What the hell is going on with me. What am I some kind of superhero?”
I look at the dead bodies all around me. Time to get out of Dodge.
I walk out of the parking garage and down the street. I hear sirens off in the distance and they are starting to get closer. I decide to break out in to a sprint and run as fast as I can. I turn down a side street and find myself staring at a clothing bank half a block down. I walk toward the clothing bank and pull on the door. It's locked and the lights are off.
“Wish I had a way to get in without breaking anything or setting off alarms.” I say. My headache flares, and there's a flash of light. I'm holding a lockpick kit in my hands.
I kneel down by the door and start picking the lock. It takes me a couple minutes, but I'm able to do it. I get inside and start looking for clothes that fit me. I get a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, shoes, and a jacket. I walk out without causing a scene.
I start making my way down the street again. The city is bustling with nightlife as people are going to nightclubs, bars, and theaters. Buses, cabs, and other vehicles pack the streets as they travel around.
I continue walking for several more blocks until I find myself standing in front of a large apartment building. At the door, there is a man dressed in what kind of looks like a bellhop's uniform.
“Mister Thompson,” The man inquires, “is that you? I almost didn't recognize you.”
I walk toward the man. “Uh, yeah, it's me. Sorry, I seem to forgotten my keys.”
The man smiles. “No problem. I can help you get into your apartment. Just follow me.”
I follow the man into the apartment building and then into the elevator. He presses the button for the twenty-fifth floor. As we ride up toward our destination, the doorman casually makes conversation with me.
“You've been gone for a while. If I might inquire, where have you been? This isn't your normal attire.”
“I just got out of the hospital.” I tell him. “Apparently, I had to have some surgery done. It's still kind of fuzzy, since I can't remember anything.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that. I hope you make a speedy recovery.”
“Thanks.”
The elevator arrives at the designated floor, and we get out. We walk down the hallway until we stop at a door. The number says 2518, but doesn't seem familiar to me. The doorman takes out a masterkey and slides it into the doorknob. The lock clicks into the unlocked position and he opens the door.
“There ya go, Mr. Thompson, I hope you have a good night.”
“Thanks again. Sorry I don't remember your name.”
“That's okay. It's Jake.”
“Thanks, Jake, for everything.”
“You're welcome, Mr. Thompson. Have a good night.”
I walk into the apartment, close the door, and lock it. I turn on the light next to the door so I can see where I am going. The apartment is quite large. A spacious living room, decently-sized kitchen, and a large bathroom that connects to an equally large bedroom. How the hell can I afford such a posh living space? Just what do I do for a living? What is the rent?
I continue walking around the apartment to see if I can find anything that will give me a clue as to who I am or what I do. I start in the living room. It's obvious I like tech. A high-end TV, surround-sound home theater system, gaming consoles, and Blu-Ray movies are all packed into the living room.
I walk into the bedroom and turn the light on. Looks pretty normal. There's another TV, a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. I walk over to the walk-in closet and open it. I see all kinds of business suits that are of the highest quality. But that isn't the only thing that gets my attention. I see a panel on the back wall. I make my way back there. It appears to be a hand-print and retinal scanner. That's kind of weird to have in a closet, I think.
I put my hand on the scanner and lean in to the retinal scanner. I hear the beep of the confirmation, and hear a hiss as the compartment begins to open. Inside the compartment are a stockpile of guns and ammunition along with night-vision equipment and some kind of body suit. Feeling a little uneasy, I close the compartment.
I walk out of the closet and over to the bed. I start looking all around the frame of it. On the left hand side, I find a Glock 9mm pistol concealed underneath the mattress. It's tucked in an easy to access holster in case somebody should be stupid enough to break in. I put the pistol back in it's hiding place.
I hear my stomach rumbling and remember that I haven't eaten. I look around the nightstand and find a wallet. Inside is a large wad of cash, several credit cards, and a driver's license. I pull out the license and look at it. It has my picture on it, along with my name, height, weight, eye, and hair color. Once again, it confirms that my name is Ryan Thompson, so that's reassuring. The nightstand also has a cellphone plugged into a charger on it, so I pick it up and unplug it. I scroll through the contact list to see if there are any restaurant numbers. I find one for an Italian restaurant and dial it.
A voice answers on the other end. “Good evening, thank you for calling Santoni's, this Rachel, how may I help you?”
“Hi Rachel, this is Ryan Thompson, I'd like to place an order. For delivery if possible.”
“Certainly, Mr. Thompson, it's good to hear from you. What would you like this evening?”
“What do you have on special?”
“This evening we an amazing chicken parmegiana with gnocci and creamy tomato and basil risotto.”
“Sounds scrumptious. Will you send your best wine to compliment that as well?”
“Of course. Is there anything that you will be requiring this evening, Mr. Thompson?”
“No, thank you, Rachel, that will be all.”
Rachel gives me the total, and I charge it to one of the credit cards. I'm sure to include a generous tip.
“Thank you, Mr. Thompson, and have a good evening.”
“Thank you, too, Rachel.”
I end the phone call. I can't believe that I just pulled that off.
While I'm waiting for my food to arrive, I decide to look through the dresser. Inside the top two drawers, I find underwear and socks. Okay, pretty normal stuff. I'm surprised by what I find in the third drawer. It's a bunch of women's panties. Am I married? Or in a relationship with someone? But this is nothing compared to what I find in the fourth drawer. It's a collection of passports. Now, curiosity really has gotten the better of me, so I grab the passports and dump them all out on the bed. I look at every single one of them. They all have my photo in them, but the names are all different. James King, Richard Madison, David Harrison, Henry Bauer, just to name a few. Just who in the hell am I? I thought I was Ryan Thompson, now I'm all of these other people? And what's with all of the guns? Am I a spy? Or a hitman? What the hell is going on here?
The doorbell rings, bringing me out of my daydream. I walk over to the intercom and press the button.
“Hello?”
“Hi. I have a delivery for Mr. Ryan Thompson from Santoni's”
“Oh, yeah, come right in. I'll buzz you up.”
Within a couple minutes the delivery driver is at my apartment door. I give her a tip after she hands over my meal.
I take my food and place it on the coffee table in the living room. I turn on the TV to watch it as I eat. I pop the cork on the wine bottle and pour myself a glass of wine. As I'm eating and watching TV, I'm flipping through the channels for news of my escape. Nothing out the ordinary seems to be hitting any of the news channels, so I finish my meal and wine and turn off the TV. It seems kind of odd that something that high profile didn't make the news, especially with gunshots going off at a hospital. Someone must really want to keep news about me under wraps.
Feeling full and sleepy, I cork the bottle and put it in the refrigerator. I turn off all of the lights, lock the door, and head off to the bedroom. I strip down to my boxers and climb into bed. As I drift off to sleep, I decide that tomorrow is another day and that whatever it throws at me, I'll deal with it then.