John Doe

The fuzzy parts of my memory are smeared with shadows as I try to recollect where I am. Darkness pervades my field of vision with random scatterings across a linoleum floor from a storm outside. A loud crack sends a vociferous clap through my head and pounds my vision into focus. A bolt of lightning, not far off from the sound of it, lights up the room I am in and brings me back up to the surface of consciousness.

My eyes soak up what little they can from the limited amount of details around me. There is a window fifteen feet up a wall behind me and a steel door, which appears to have no doorknob or handle on it, at my feet. As I strain to move my head I suddenly hear some faint voices beyond my confinement.

One man declares “Power is down through the entire complex."

Another man says something about backup generators but his voice trails off and footsteps are the last noises I hear as silence returns intermittently between thunderous booms.

My thoughts are muddled. My memories gone.

Who am I?

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