Ch II: Waking Up
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He'd woken up in the hospital seven and a half months ago with only a few vague memories of anything that had happened before that point. Those memories had seemed to be the events that lead up to him being damaged in the hospital.
The first thing he had remembered was being in a fire fight, alone, against a handful of others wanting him dead.
The second memory he had was waking up in a painful agony. Those same people threw him into the boot of a car.
In the third memory he was drowning in a river. He figured they must have dumped him in the river to get rid of his body. Luck him. Apparently, a couple whose evening out included a romantic interlude on the shore of the river had spotted him struggling. She had called 911 while he had swum out, rescued and performed CPR.
The doctors told him that it was a miracle he wasn't dead or have brain damage. He had been shot eleven times. Twice in his right shoulder, once in his left upper arm, three times in his left thigh, twice in his chest, twice in his stomach and once in his head. And none of these shots had hit any major organs or arteries. They had worked on him for six and a half hours in surgery, extracting the eight bullets that were still in his body. Twice they had trouble stopping excessive bleeding. Four times he'd flat lined.
He'd stayed in a coma for three days. In truth, nobody had believed he would ever wake up again. The chance they had had given him was only 23%. Waking up without brain damage they'd put at 17%. Therefore, no one was surprised to find out he had amnesia, just at the fact that it was the only thing wrong with him.
It sucked. Amnesia was such a damn cliché. And what had annoyed him further, what had made the cliché so much worse, was that the shoot out from his memory had taken place in a damn abandoned warehouse.
Author's Chapter Notes:
He woke, everyone is trying to kill him and he has no idea who they are or why.