Alone in a room with a door. Not much to go on, but it is still somewhere to start from. The past memories are foggy. The general knowledge is there but people, places, and things don't matter that much to someone who has no relation to them.
A lone man ponders his predicament. He is self aware, but has no recollection of himself. Something just feels wrong in the back of his mind. Terror would be obvious to anyone, be he is a nobody. Naked in a unimposing room with a light fixture out of reach above his head, and a wooden door embedded into the opposite wall.
The first thing that comes to his mind after collecting himself is "I think therefore I am". He feels no pain or residue of emotions to build onto. Just knowledge that waking up naked, not knowing who you are, and in an unfamiliar setting is not a good situation. Gathering his bearings the man rises from his vantage point and slides his back up the wall. An impossibly smooth wall. No imperfections at all. Every side and edge of the room is perfect excluding the door. Somehow even the light is perfectly aligned and balanced as it floats inches below the ceiling.
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He may be ignorant of himself but floating lights are not possible. The slight tinge of fear causes goosebumps to rise ever so slighlty on his forearms. Even in this evenly heated place. Pressing off the wall with his left hand he paces over towards the door.
Fear may be guiding his actions but it is obvious that the only way forward is... well... forward. There is literally nothing in here for him maybe not even air. Breathing is fine for now, but that doesn't mean the air won't stagnate as he consumes it to fuel his lungs. Grappling his budding emotions he observes the exit. A smooth door with no creases or indents in or around it is just inches away from him. There is no air circulation around it so it does seem that his time here is limited. Listening or testing it wont yield any answers, just more questions. Disturbed by his generic past, and fearful of the uncertain future he grasps the doorknob with his right hand and turns it. Feeling no resistance, and barely enough friction to not slip his hand off, he twists until it abruptly stops.
Sweating from the palms is cool to the touch as it rolls down the length of arm. A taxing heartbeat, and deep breathing are the only sounds resonating within this finite space. Panic momentarily freezes the action. A drop unbinds itself from skin and commences the rest of the procedure.
He pulls the door towards himself.
Then walks though the open path.