It happened only about a month ago.
A man laying on the wooden floor woke up like it was his first day on Earth. Not by any sudden sound, alarm or contact. He just simply regained consciousness.
"Where am I?"
Aside from: My head hurts like hell! that was the only other thought that came to him in this very moment.
It was completely dark, so he didn't have a clue where he was.
In an attempt to discern his location, his body, which was aching all over, struggled to lift itself up from the hard floor.
"Fuck! This hurts like hell!"
Taking a step forward was no simple task. Nevertheless, he continued to move through the pain while scanning his surroundings.
Once he realized he was inside a room of some sort, he scaled the surrounding walls in search of a light switch.
"Ah, this must be it."
After locating the switch, he gently flipped it on, but nothing happened.
"What the..."
The man then switched it off before flipping it back on again, and this time a light began to flash until it remained.
At first he flinched as the light was quite harsh on his eyes.
It took about a minute or two, but once they had slightly adjusted to the brightness, he could finally see everything more clearly.
His surroundings - now completely illuminated - revealed a bed, a wooden desk, a chair, a wardrobe, an empty bookshelf, a coat hanger, two doors and thin curtains that covered a single window.
"This must be an apartment, right? Does someone live here?" He spoke his thoughts aloud, questioning the environment that was unfamiliar to him.
The first thing he noticed about this room was how neat it was. The hardwood floor, which he had previously been laying on, was completely polished and unstained. The bed was perfectly made with red sheets and covers, and the temperature felt warm.
Maybe a little too warm.
He looked down at his attire, and realized he was dressed in a black hoodie and black joggers. He immediately proceeded to undress himself, even unclothing the white shirt he wore underneath.
The shirt, feeling wet in his grasp was likely drenched in his sweat.
Feeling much cooler already, he opened a door near the entrance of the room and - as he had anticipated - an en suite appeared from behind it.
Even the bathroom's completely clean, he thought to himself as he entered.
From the sink, he gathered water with cupped palms and repeated a splashing motion upon his face before raising his head up to observe himself in the bathroom mirror.
… What is this?
There wasn't a single word capable of describing the confusion he felt in that moment.
Upon gazing at the mirror, he saw the face of a man: pale and slim with hair and eyes of a dark umber.
This is... me?
It was undoubtedly him. These were features that he certainly possessed, features that definitely belonged to him. He himself was sure of that fact, and yet...
Why don't I recognize myself? It was somehow his first confrontation with the man in the mirror.
With a sense of panic arising, he began to think deeply about how he ended up here in this apartment. But then, even more questions began to fill his mind one by one.
Why am I here? Who does this room belong to? Where did I even come from? Why was I passed out on the floor? How long was I unconscious for? Who the heck am I?
The last question seemed to hold more weight than the rest.
Wait... my name... Why can't I remember my name!?
...
"I can't believe it," he mumbled, his hands resting against either side of his head. "My own name is unknown to me."
But it didn't end there. There were many other memories that he didn't seem to have access to.
Such as, who his parents were. Where he lived. How old he was.
Do I even have friends?
"AGH!!!!" The throbbing in his brain grew more agonizing, no longer able to hold the combined weight of all these questions.
He instinctively placed a palm on his forehead in response to the pain, and began to feel a strange roughness along that area.
Thinking the feeling was unusual, he pulled his hair back with his free hand while uncovering his forehead with the other.
"What the hell happened to me?"
What he observed in that mirror just then was enough to conclude that something tragic had occurred before he passed out in this apartment.
...
After a warm shower that relaxed the tension in his muscles and cured his sore, stiff body, the man exited the bathroom, covered by a red towel that was left inside.
He then searched for any spare clothes he could wear.
He didn't know how long he had been passed out for or why he had passed out in the first place, so wearing the same clothes he woke up in didn't seem like the best course of action.
However, once he checked inside the wardrobe, he discovered that only the repetitions of a single outfit were hung and some folded above the hangers on a shelf.
Dark pants, white vest, red hoodie...
There was at least ten of each.
Whoever this apartment belonged to, they had quite the peculiar taste in fashion.
I suppose it's better than no clothes at all...
Hesitantly, the man put on the outfit while fixing himself neatly using the tall mirror attached to the other side of the wardrobe door.
His bangs were lengthy enough to reach his eyes, and he made sure to cover his forehead with them as he pulled his hood over his head.
Huh... a perfect fit...
Aside from the fact that he now looked like some shady drug dealer you could find in an alleyway or street corner, the man felt strangely comfortable in the clothes he was wearing.
Feeling slightly curious about the identity of the apartment's resident as well as how he ended up here, he walked toward the desk and proceed to search inside the top drawer for any clues.
To his surprise, he found that aside from the existence of a single item, the entire drawer was practically empty.
The item was a red wallet made of patent leather, plain and unbranded.
He held it close to his face as though fascinated only by the color behind it's gloss.
This has to be some kind of obsession, right?
It was blatantly obvious that the resident had some sort of infatuation with the color red: the hoodies, the bedding, the toothbrush in the bathroom, the empty laundry basket on the floor beside the desk, the desk lamp, the desk chair, the trash can on the other side of the desk, and now his wallet...
"This guy must be a complete weirdo."
Fortunately, the man who donned a red hood, was now in possession of one of the "weirdo's" important belongings, which held the key to revealing their true identity.
He opened the wallet and discovered the item he was searching for, however, it's contents were rather... unexpected.
"This... This can't be real..."
Between his thumb and index finger, the man held the smooth corner of an ID card.
What he expected to find was the image of the stranger who lived in this accommodation. But the image he saw - displayed on the card - had completely contradicted his imagination.
"That's me, isn't it? Why is my face on this ID card?" He asked such questions internally, but in his heart, he knew the answer was simple. "This apartment... am I the one who lives here?"
His wide eyes continued to scan the rest of the details written on the ID card.
Name: Red. Date of Birth: 02/14/2003. Address: 222 Green St., Apt. 1-3A, New York...
"So, this is my personal information?" Instead of becoming more worried and concerned, the man decided to let this new information sink in. Perhaps he could learn something about his past and who he was.
"What kind of name is Red anyway?"
The name itself was quite odd, and there was no last name to go with it either, which seemed very suspicious.
"Either I got emancipated at some point, or this ID is fake..."
With a confused expression, the man sat down on the red chair in front of the desk, enjoying the softness of the cushioned seat fabric.
He began to think deeply about the information, gradually putting all the pieces together like a large jigsaw puzzle.
"So, my name is Red, and I was born on Valentines day. I'm still not sure how old I am though since I don't know today's date or what year it is. And as for my address... it seems I'm located somewhere in New York on the first floor of an apartment complex on Green Street."
Although it was comforting for him to have figured out this much already so far, it still wasn't enough to reawaken any of his memories.
He decided to keep searching the wallet for other clues and items.
There was no spare change, no other ID's or business cards, but he found a few other new items: a folded ticket, a small key, and a red card.
He place them all on the desk, carefully examining each one.
He started by unfolding the ticket and reading the label.
"Standard Ticket to Marlin Mayfair's Magic Show, Mason St., February 1st. Seat Designation: R13." The rectangular ticket was made of paper, and it was embellished with stars and other decorative patterns with a small barcode in the center of it.
I must've booked this ticket at some point before I passed out. Am I into magic or something?
"Marlin Mayfair..."
For some reason, the name didn't seem to ring any bells in the man's brain, but it was likely that he was a famous magician who "Red" was probably a big fan of.
He dropped the ticket back on the desk and moved on to the next item.
"A red card, huh? Is this some kind of credit card?"
There were no details written on the front or back of the card.
It was almost completely plain, so it would be practically impossible to tell whether or not it was actually a credit card if not for its smooth plastic surface, accompanied by the presence of an EMV chip on the front.
"I wonder how much money's in here," the man said as he looked up at the red card, which he carefully held above his head like some kind of sacred treasure.
It was hard to estimate how much was actually inside, especially since he was unaware of his employment status, and there were no clear clues to suggest anything.
He carefully placed the card down and moved on to the key.
It was a small silver key with an odd shape.
"I doubt it's the entrance key to the apartment."
The man threw the key into the air and caught it in one hand, then continued to repeat this while trying to ascertain the purpose of the key.
"Oops."
While unfocused, he failed to catch the key in his palm and instead accidently knocked it onto the floor.
While still seated, he began to bend down and stretch his arm down to retrieve the small key that landed just beneath him.
But as he did so, he discovered a small container poking out from just under the desk.
Curious, the man pulled it out completely before placing it on the desk.
"Of course it's red..." The man frowned, as he gazed at the container. After discovering that this was his own apartment, he started to feel a resentment growing toward himself due to his unique obsession.
The container was a flat cuboid-shaped box made of a polished red metal. It looked a lot like a tool box, but it felt too light in his hands.
He also chose not to shake it just in case there was something delicate inside.
"How do you open this thing?"
After turning the box a couple of times, he noticed a small padlock mechanism.
"Guess this is where the key goes." He turned the padlock upside down to examine the keyhole on its base.
Without wasting any time, the man picked up the silver key and pushed it into the keyhole.
Nice, it fits. He celebrated internally.
After effortlessly opening the padlock, he placed it to one side and proceeded to gently lift up the lid of the box.
Once the lid was completely removed, he paused for a moment before placing it separately on the desk.
"That can't be what I think it is, right?"
He was left stunned as he peered inside the flat box. There seemed to be just three items within: a mobile phone, a red notebook, and the thing that sat on top of it.
"My God, Red... what the fuck is this..." The man's heart began to race and the rapid flow of blood in his veins continued to raise his body heat sharply. "Just, who the hell are you?"
The longer he stared at it, the more he questioned himself-- questioned who exactly he was.
But such questions were justified.
Waking up in an unfamiliar environment without any prior memories would make anyone react this way, especially after discovering a gun hidden in their apartment.