Life Succor

Though the pain in his bleeding foot was what first awoke him, the purid smell brought him to full consciousness. He opened his eyes and heard the rustling plasic and clinging cans beneath him. He was in a dumpster, and he couldn't remember his own name. He was also stark naked.

The man slowly crawled out of the dumpster only to discover, harshly, that whatever ever strength his body may have once possessed was gone, for the only thing faster than his fall to the ground, was the stop. He managed, however, to stand up, and began to survey the area.

He was in a dark, trashy alley, the only light an eery bluish white coming from a giant clock, which itself rest upon a towering black monolith of some archaic arhitectural design. He could hear rats in scurrying about, and a few cars passing by on the street. White smoke rose through rusted railings attached to the buildings as fire escapes, and the smell was still very strong, garbage and rot. He was definitely in a city and naked. He soon became acutely aware of his uncomfortable state which he soon became acutely aware of, and set off to find clothes, not before taking the cleanest garbage bag he could find, which still wasn't very clean, and creating some makeshift poncho.

He wasn't walking very long before he found an open clothing store and headed inside.

"Hey, I... uh, I need some clothes..." he stammered barely able to stand the bright overhead lights of the store.

After the clerk stopped laughing he asked, "And how do you expect to pay for your clothes?"

The nameless man sourly squinted only slightly longer at the the clerk's smug grin before leaving. He decided the only place he could get any help was a police station, so he started walking down the street, looking. He tried to avoid the many odd stares ad double takes he recieved. The city itself, at least in the night, seemed of rather poor quality, so he didn't think that a man of appearently poor luck would surprise them, but perhaps a real garbage man was the one thing they hadn't seen. He was chuckling at his pun, which didn't help his insane image, when he saw, and stopped, a passing cop car.

The young officer was glad to help and take him to the station. He admitted twashat this time was the first he was ever stopped by a person without a murderer or robber close behind.

"My name is Mercury by the way, my parents had a sense of humor, and were Queen fans," the officer said with a slight, awkward smile. The stranger had been awfully silent staring into space, massaging a single spot on his head the whole trip.

"And your name?"

"I don't know..."

"Oh, well... how'd you end up in this state?"

"I don't know..."

"Ok... well, anything you do know?"

"I don't-"

"Know... got it. Well, I guess we'll find out soon. We can take your fingerprints at the station, then you'll know who you are."

What if I don't want to know... thought the stranger somberly, still wondering curiously about the odd circular pattern seemingly etched onto his temple.

They arrived at the police station, and made their way past the crooks and cops in the main hall to where they could figure out who the stranger was.

About twent minutes after all forms were filled, test were done, and prints were taken, Mercury came back, looking frurstrated.

"You don't exist."

"What?" the nameless man confusingly replied as he noticed the beginning of a headache...

"You dont exist. Blood, fingerprints, physical charactaristics..." Mercury said stubbornly, flipping through papers, "none of it matched a single person in our computers. Computers which, might I add, are linked with federal and international networks and registries. I can find out the left/right hand orientation of some bum in Khazikstan, but you... you don't exist."

"So... what next..."

"Well, there is *some* good news. Your temple? The nurse that checked you out told me about it. It's a trademark of the Vitachron company. So, you might be somewhere in their records. Though I don't quite know where this is going, since business with them is so secure, they'd never allow someone literal nobody for a chronotrip."

"What the hell is a chronotrip?"

"Huh? What the hell is a... Seriously? Vitachron and its 'services' are even still like... the biggest and most controversial thign since those homekit abortions a while ago, but much bigger."

"Sweet, awesome... didn't answer my question though..." he said with an overly sarcastic and bitter tone. He wasn't upset with the officer in any way, but his situation was growing increasingly upsetting, and there were still no answers. He didnt exist?

"All right... well, essentially they are like a cure all for.. everything. They put you to sleep, take control of your body, and do whatever you want for you. You wake up, basically no time having passed for you, and it's done," he said excitedly, vehemontly waving his hands around like he was simultaeneously speaking in some exaggerated sign language, "They'll work for you for days, weeks or months. Losing weight, working out, job assignments, break-ups, cleaning jobs, building a house, whatever. You pay them for the time, or extra if it's like, a big thing, and you wake up and it's done. Not everyone wants people to know while it's happening, but everyone gets that mark."

The stranger again felt the mark, but with more distressful wonder. It was wrinkled hardened skin, like a scar, in the shape of a circle, with four lines from top, bottom, left and right leading from the inside of the circle to the center, connected to another, much smaller circle.

"So what did I ask for? No... Of course you wouldn't know... But they would, right?"

"See, that's the thing, I don't know. Assuming you're some nameless citizen that was just never put on record, well... Vitachron's security is so tight, you would never be able to get past the lobby, let alone be allowed service. However, since it's clear they did... 'service' you, they should have a record, maybe a name, and perhaps even some answers."

"So, can we go? Thanks for the clothes, by the way, but I definitely stil feel naked. Maybe more like this intense mental itch that I can't reach. It's enfuriating. I can't remember who the fuck I am!! I want to go nuts and start bouncing off the wall and breaking things I'm getting so mad..."

"Well, it's late, but if you get some rest we'll go in the morning. I myself have more work to do, but you can spend the night in a cell, no problem. We don't have many, so they're kept in pretty good condition."

"All right, I'm a bit hungry too, got *anything*?" he said, finally noticing the pain in his stomach.

"Yeah, here are some quarters," he said reaching into his pocket, then his other, and bringing out a paper-wrapped roll of coins, "it should be more than enough to get some chips and soda, or gum, whatever."

"Hey, Mercury... what if I'm currently, like... on a 'konotrip' or whatever, maybe I'm not me... y'know? Like, this isn't my body."

"Well, honestly, no way of telling. But considering the situation, I doubt much of anything will be very simple, or at all how it seems. Get some rest. Don't want to fuck up that body, might not be yours."


*End for now. Will be finished later. (I'm tired, but the "part 2" and "part 3" isn't, well, appetizing.*