1.

Eyes open slowly, almost unwillingly, to a bright blue sky with only the odd small patch of cotton white spread quite sparingly. Pain hits, a brain pain, an almost excruciating headache pain that forces the eyes to clench shut for a moment or two. He sits up slowly, gripping his head as he does so, and eyes open once more.

'Where the hell am I?'

Just the one question at first, others are certainly about to follow for where it is he has woken is such an odd place to have spent any time sleeping and none of the surroundings are in any way familiar. Grass, a wide opening space of grass, a field possibly in the middle of nowhere, he touches the base of his nose and finds cause for worry.

Blood, there has been a nosebleed, not currently overly heavy, more of a slight trickle, there isn't much more blood around the surrounding area either on his person or the area his head had been laying so he can't have been bleeding much or for long.

'What is going on?' ... the inevitable second question.

He is wearing a suit, a light grey suit with a white shirt, thin black tie, loosely knotted, and on his feet, there are black croc shoes, something a bit too casual if he had recently attended some sort of business meeting. He doesn't normally wear suits or so he initially believes as he can't quite be sure of such a thing, in actuality, he can't be sure of anything, and business meetings somehow don't feel ... right.

There is a duffel bag next to him, long, circular and of a dark colour. He doesn't know of it or recognize it, is it his? This duffel bag is here with him so it must be his. Hell, there is a lot he doesn't recognize or know much of in this moment, and this possibly includes himself, first things first though.

Grabbing the bag and bringing it to his lap while still sitting on the ground, he opens what he has. Inside the bag there is cash, bundles and bundles of cash, twenties, fifties, and hundreds. Is this money his? Did he steal it? He doesn't know. If it is his, then why isn't it in a bank? If he had committed a robbery, he surely would not have done it in the clothes he currently is wearing but then again, as with everything else, he cannot be sure of such a thing. Is there some sort of ransom he needs to pay?

There are also a bunch of keys in this bag too.

He removes the keys from the bag and attempts to stand, slowly and carefully for he is a little woozy, all the while making sure he doesn't fall over as since he is right smack in the middle of a rather large field there is nothing to grab onto should he lose his balance. Yeah, his legs are quite weak to begin with, a little jelly-like, though they do steadily improve the longer he stands. Looking around he takes a more detailed look at his surroundings.

There are a number of groupings of trees spread out in certain areas, each area being hundreds of meters away both behind him and off to both sides of him. About three hundred meters of so away on his right and beyond some wooden fencing, there is a silver-coloured vehicle. He cannot tell from this distance the make or model of the car especially with the fencing taking away from his view though his initial reaction is that it possibly is an expensive vehicle.

In this moment, makes and models of cars do not mean very much to him, and he has no idea as to if they ever have. He just can't seem to remember. He cannot remember much of anything at all to the point he even begins to talk to himself.

'How'd I get here? Some night last night? Nah, I don't think so. This suit ... that car ... not mine ...'

There is a clicker on the set of keys he has taken from the duffel bag so he presses it. A beep accompanies a flash of the car lighting indicates its alarm system has been deactivated.

'Huh ... it is my car ... I guess ... I don't know ... do I?'

It is at this moment he realizes or perhaps begins to accept just how little he does remember. His heart begins to beat a little faster; he looks around again to once more take in his surrounding a little quicker than before. He recognizes nothing ... he remembers nothing ... not even his name. There must be some explanation, a bang to the head perhaps, no, he may have a headache but it's not from any kind of knock. There are no bumps or any points of soreness on his head.

'Alright ... try to be calm.'

There are no animals near, so no charging bulls or angrily barking dogs to worry about. Whatever is going on, it'll come back to him ... he just needs a moment ... if he had been out last night, he may have taken something, or he might have been slipped something and whatever that something may be, it is probably what is causing how he feels in this moment.

If that is so, then how did he get here? If he were intoxicated, willingly or otherwise, then he surely didn't drive himself here. He wouldn't drive out to such a location as to where he so happens to be then simply walk out into the middle of a field and just pass out, especially if it occurred during the night, for he surely wouldn't be able to see a thing in a night time darkness.

The money in the duffel bag, what's that about? The car, get to the car and maybe answers will begin to come. They must come. The ground is uneven, and the grass is plentiful so his movement to the car are cautious. He doesn't appear to have any physical injuries and hopefully nothing physical will show itself anytime soon.

He gets to the fencing and climbs over while once again glancing around and being glad at the fact there are no animals nearby to add to his woes as he also is glad that he managed to get over the fencing with relative ease. Why managing to get over a fence should be a cause for joy is something beyond him though joy it did give him.

There is that fact that there is nothing else alive in his current line of sight or any line of sight he may have within the next few minutes. Whether or not this is a good thing he is unsure. How far away from other people is he? Having used the clicker he discovered not all so long ago, it is ensured that the car alarm has been deactivated and it also unlocks the car too so to begin with, in this moment, he moves into the passenger seat.

The idea of this is to go through the glove compartment in the off chance it could provide him with some much-needed information, information about himself of course more so than possible information on the car. The first couple of items discovered however were car related, logbook along with tax and insurance details then there is a discovery of a passport.

A passport, perfect, this should get him started, it should begin to jog that noggin of his, as long as this passport belongs to him that is. The passport belongs to Henry Corbin. Is this his name? The name itself seems foreign to him, not foreign as in being from a far-off land but foreign as in it doesn't sound right and it jogs nothing. Maybe it is his name, if it is then why is he struggling not only to remember but to accept it? Why is he struggling with anything memory related?

There is of course a photo in the passport, and it is only in this moment that he realizes that he is not even sure of what he himself, looks like. He lives within himself and there generally aren't any mirrors hanging about in open fields so with a loss of memory there is a lack of knowledge.

Indeed, the photo jogs nothing. A middle-aged man, short dark hair and a dark moustache, in fact from the date of birth given on the passport he reckons his age to be that of thirty-eight years, a Henry Patrick Corbin, born March third, 1981.

Today's date however, he couldn't hazard a guess as to what that may be so how can he deduce that he is thirty-eight? Something within him just tells him that he is. Weather wise, it is not so much cold, if anything it is quite pleasant so it is not towards the end of the year nor is it towards the beginning, it could possibly April or May or possibly closer to the midpoint of the year. It is quite nice out but possibly not a summertime kind of nice. And if he is thirty-eight then the year must be 2019.

The passport was issued in 2013 and is valid for ten years, last used in August of 2018. Still, guesses and feelings aren't facts even if they can be considered somewhat educated.

Having closed the glove compartment, he pulls down the passenger side visor from above his head for it to reveal at eye level a small rectangular mirror on its inside. Having a look at himself he appears to be a match with the passport photo. A little older physically now than the photo suggests though he is a handsome man, so he believes, and this makes him smile but only temporarily for how could he have forgotten what he looks like.

Temporarily forgetting his name is one thing but forgetting how he looks too? And who is to say there is anything temporary about any of this. If he has some sort of condition, then it might be permanent. He only has a name and a date of birth which both came with a found passport, a passport indeed found within a car he does not know, so how can he accept anything the car or any of its contents may tell him.

This is all very strange to say the least and this is not to mention the way he woke and as to where he woke too. There is much more to this than a possible good night out, drug induced or not, alcohol induced or not.

Thoughts return to the money, was he paid for something? Was he part of a robbery perhaps? Maybe it went someway wrong, and he was abandoned by a partner. Doesn't make sense either. He himself is not physically injured and he has the money. If a partner tried to do him wrong, then ... is there a head injury? He doesn't think so, no point debating anything with himself. He just to take what he can deduce and move on, hope something comes to him,

Alright, for now at least, he is Henry Patrick Corbin born on the third day of March 1981 and he is this until something else informs him otherwise. So, next on any virtual to do list, if there can be a to do list, is to move on and see what else might come his way, thing is now ... move onto where?

He does not know where he is, he does not know where he could go, hell, he doesn't even know if he is capable of driving. He must be capable of driving if he is in possession of a car and keys though nothing could or should be taken for granted. If the car is a rental, he would have discovered such though tax and insurance are in the name of Henry Corbin, so the car possibly is his.

Yeah, what next other than move into the driver's seat and start the car? How odd, he does begin to drive and driving seems to come naturally. The ability to drive has shown itself so the next thing now is the where to? Just head anywhere is all he can do and see if anything else comes naturally, as unlikely as it may be, perhaps somewhere might seem familiar.

Ten minutes of driving brings him towards a village. Slight amount of traffic, not enough to cause any kind of standstill or to give him much time to take in any of the surroundings, as it is nothing looks familiar. Continuing on along the town, it seems to be larger than it initially suggested it might be, and he can see that there is at least one hotel in the immediate vicinity, so he may as well try find himself a parking space so he can go have himself a bit of a walk.

Parking spaces are not too difficult to find in this moment and the surprises keep coming as he manages to park the car with relative ease. It may take time to sort any of this out though time is all he has, well that and the suit he is wearing, and the car and the duffle bag of cash too, cash which he has locked in the boot of the car. Is it wise to leave it in there? What if the car is stolen before he gets back to it? Carrying around a bag full of cash can't be a wise thing either so perhaps a little spending cash should be pocketed.

As lost as one can be, this all is like stepping into a whole new world, a new world without one iota of what to do next. He has the basics, the ability to manoeuvre, the ability to communicate and any other basics any human can have. Finances are assured for the moment at least as is some sort of identity, what else is there other than to go explore?