It was a chilly autumn afternoon on February 4th, 2015.
A massive fire broke out in the western district of Morioh, quickly becoming the top headline on every news channel. The ferocious flames devoured restaurants, old apartment blocks, and countless family homes, causing damages exceeding 6.8 million USD. Over 280 lives were endangered — 271 people suffered severe injuries, and 9 lost their lives.
The Morioh Police Department confirmed it was the work of a terrorist group calling themselves "The Freedom." Their symbol: a white skull with outstretched bird wings. They had attempted to rob a bank but failed and fled. The authorities were still hunting them down.
"Citizens are advised to remain vigilant and avoid going out unnecessarily."
Inside a small, cozy rented apartment, warm yellow light filled the room.
A young man sat on an old brown sofa, cradling a hot cup of coffee that his girlfriend had just made for him. The rich aroma rose gently, but the news playing on the TV kept his brows furrowed.
"Looks like the city's been full of these incidents lately…" he muttered.
Reina stood at the sink, washing dishes. She turned her head, half-joking, half-annoyed:
"Are those guys brainless? Robbing a bank in broad daylight and calling themselves 'The Freedom of Humanity'? Serves them right."
Her boyfriend smiled softly, but his eyes remained serious. He turned around fully and looked at her with a mix of worry and affection.
"Reina, you need to be extra careful when you go out too. Those bastards are still hiding somewhere in this city. I don't want anything to happen to you."
Reina dried her hands on her apron, then suddenly hopped over and plopped herself onto his lap. She crossed her arms and made a comically fierce face.
"If they dare show up, I'll kick them right in the balls so hard they'll be crying in agony!"
Both of them burst into laughter. Their bright, carefree laughter echoed through the small apartment, briefly chasing away the heavy atmosphere hanging over the city outside.
But the laughter slowly faded as their eyes instinctively drifted toward the window.
Outside, the cold autumn wind whispered through the streets, carrying with it the faint, lingering scent of smoke and ash from the west side of town…
--
A gentle autumn breeze drifted through the town, carrying with it the rustle of fallen leaves that danced across the rooftops. The autumn of 2015 felt different — heavier, stranger, as if the season itself knew something the rest of the world did not.
"Hey... young man? Are you awake yet?"
"Patient 233 is awake! Hurry, call the doctor!"
My eyes slowly opened. The white ceiling of the hospital room came into focus, cold and blinding. All around me, the air was thick with the sharp smell of medicine and burned skin. Rows of beds held other victims from the fire — moaning, bandaged, broken.
A doctor leaned over me, his voice calm but urgent.
"Do you have any family we can contact?"
I stared up at him, my lips moving uselessly.
"A… ah… um…"
I understood every word they said. Their language felt both completely foreign and strangely familiar at the same time. But no matter how hard I tried, my voice wouldn't obey.
The nurse holding a thick patient file leaned closer, her eyes full of concern.
"What's wrong? Do you want to say something?"
I wanted to answer. I really did. But it felt like a heavy, burning lump was stuck deep in my throat, choking every word before it could escape.
"Hey? Are you okay, Patient 233… Jack?"
Jack?
Was that supposed to be my name? Who was he talking to?
"Uhm… ah… a…"
I struggled again, but only broken sounds came out.
The doctor and nurses exchanged surprised glances. Their eyes were wide with confusion.
The doctor quickly stepped forward and gently helped me sit up, supporting my back.
"You can understand what I'm saying, can't you?"
I nodded slowly.
"Can you speak?"
I shook my head.
For a moment, silence filled the room. Then the doctor turned to the nurse and gave a quick order. They helped me out of bed and wheeled me out of the ward.
The hallway outside was chaos. Injured people lay on stretchers and wheelchairs, the air heavy with pain and the faint smell of smoke that still clung to their clothes.
They took me to a brain imaging room. The lights were dimmer here. A nurse carefully placed two cold electrodes against my temples. I lay still, heart pounding, wondering why I was here… and who I really was.
After several long minutes, the monitor beside the doctor lit up.
My brain scan appeared on the screen — clear, undamaged, perfectly healthy.
The doctor and nurse stared at the image in disbelief. A perfectly normal brain… yet the person it belonged to couldn't speak a single word.
I looked at them, just as lost and confused as they were.