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The man cupped some water in his hands and drank. He swirled his hands in the fountain to avoid his reflection and coughed on the tepid swill until someone chased him away. He tucked himself under a stairwell and wrapped his arms around his legs. He did not know who he was, or how he came to be in this place. He wondered if someone was looking for him. He hoped someone was looking for him.

He could remember bits and pieces and he wondered if he was crazy. He thought about going to a hospital to see if he was a patient there, or some local facility. He laughed in the dark when he thought funny farm. He tongued the gap in his teeth and wondered if he lost them to a drug habit. He squeezed his eyes shut against his arms and considered checking his clothing for tags again, anything to determine something about himself.

He reached into his pocket but there was nothing there, but he felt like there should have been. He bit his lip and tried not to cry. He did not feel like he thought a crazy person should feel. He wondered how he could get access to a Missing Persons list; he didn't think a crazy person would wonder that.

He drifted into sleep, exhausted. There were dreams but no meaning to cling to, no faces to study in waking.







Someone was coming.

He pulled his feet under himself and held his breath. It was probably just another derelict, looking for a place to sleep or piss. But he didn't think so. The gait was sure and steady.

He squared his shoulders and tried to control his breathing. Whoever was coming down the alley had stopped, paused, then continued. He could see the approaching shadow on the bricked exterior, growing smaller and smaller as it neared, so close now, the person stopped.

I'm not going to hurt you, the person said, a man.
I'm here to help you, the man assured him.

His eyes were wide, listening.

The man told him he had been looking for him, that he was a part of some type of program. The man told him he would just have to trust him, that once he got him back everything would make sense again. Everyone was so worried, worried sick. The man told him that he blamed himself for everything, that it was his fault he was lost, confused, hurt.

The man came closer and there was no pretending that he was still hid, but the man still kept his distance.

What if this man had come to kill him? Or take him back to some...facility. Even so, wasn't that better than this? He tensed to run.

Then the man said something that sounded right, sounded familiar, even if he didn't know quite why. The man told him that he was from VChicago, that he had been on a mission before everything went wrong.

Yes, that was right, he knew it somehow. He reached back into his pocket, reflexivly, and cursed himself. What had happened? What had gone wrong. This man seemed to have the answers, but he didn't trust him. He chided himself, for sounding like a crazy person in his own head. He slowly came out from under the stairwell, the man still a safe distance away.

"Who are you?" he said, his voice cracking from non-use.

The man smiles and takes a tenative step forward, "It really is you," he says softly, "my name's Forester."

He takes a step toward Forester, "Then, who am I?"

Forester holds out his hand, "Your name is Sebastian."