"Mmm…" groaned the thin, dark-haired young man, lying on the wet asphalt. He ran his hand over his bleeding forehead, smearing the scarlet sticky liquid over his skin.
Large drops of rain, falling from the black night sky, struck his fair face, trickling unpleasantly into his half-open brown eyes. The heavenly moisture diluted the flowing blood, washing it down his collar in an icy stream, creating an irritating, chilly sensation. The boy struggled to his hands and knees and vomited…
"A concussion, quite a severe one…" flashed through his mind, "How did I end up here?"
He wiped his eyes with the wet sleeve of his leather jacket, brushing away the blood stains, and peered out into the world.
Tall gray buildings covered in rusty corrugated metal sheets, a metal fence, and behind them, a metal door slammed open, caught in the cold gusts of wind. The young man looked down at himself—his worn black jeans with holes in the knees, his low black boots, his tattered leather jacket.
Who is he?
The slightly lost boy couldn't remember.
A familiar face flashed in the puddle's reflection. His face. But he couldn't remember his name. Although otherwise he knew he was a person, or that one was a window, and that one was a metal pipe.
"I think they call that amnesia. I see. So I don't remember anything about my personality."
He staggered to his feet, lost his balance slightly, and found himself pressed against the rough metal wall of the warehouse, bracing himself against the cold metal. He moved toward the industrial base's exit. His body refused to obey him; it felt like one of his ribs was cracked. Every step was a groan. The young man lifted his outerwear and felt a swollen lump near his liver.
"What happened? My intuition tells me I need to get out of here."
He moved along the patched asphalt between massive warehouses and heard the sound of heavy footsteps and splashing puddles behind him. He turned and saw armed, masked soldiers running toward him. His pupils instantly dilated, his brain frantically processed the information, and the young man, mustering his remaining strength, lunged forward, breaking into a limping run.
Pain stabbed through his body, his muscles felt heavy, and everything inside him whispered, "Stop running, give in, stop." But the boy refused to give in to that devilish, tempting whisper. He twisted his face into a wicked grin and sped up as fast as he could.
Running around the corner of one of the warehouses, his eyes frantically scanned the surrounding area, his mind searching for the best escape route: "door, gate, trash cans, transporter forklift..." Running past the trash barrels, the young man snatched the lid of one of them out of the air; two soldiers were already catching up. Glancing at his pursuers, who were already two steps behind him, the young man stopped abruptly, rushed toward the soldiers, dropped to one knee, swung the metal lid, and struck one of them in the kneecap.
A soft crunch was heard and a strong body fell, crushing the young man, who did not have time to jump aside.
The masked giant fell on the boy, grabbed him, and hit him in the liver. The boy, expelling liters of air in a single breath, lost consciousness.
"You should be more careful with him, Elsa!" the dark-skinned mulatto woman, her face hidden by a black balaclava, muttered discontentedly. "We still have to deliver him to the Gray-Haired One! She paid a fortune for these boys. Don't ruin the goods!"
"Tsk..." the embittered partner climbed off the unconscious boy, not forgetting to pinch his penis. "That brat almost broke my leg... the little brat! Ow!" she touched his swollen knee. "I'm starting to think about keeping him for myself," the girl thought mockingly. "I'll teach him how to be a good boy." Her red tongue ran over her plump pink lips in anticipation.
"Well, well, you're supposed to keep a guy with a face like that? Ha!" the mulatto woman chuckled. "Your dough isn't enough for all his trinkets!"
Elsa flared her nostrils like a little Spanish bull, but couldn't find a response. After all, only rich women could afford handsome guys.
The girls lifted the knocked-out young man by the arms and dragged him back to the warehouse, where the rest of the "goods" were huddled in fear.