The carpet smelled like cat piss and cinnamon. It filled the nostrils of a man lying naked with his face pressed into the rough material. He gagged and coughed, causing him to fully awaken. He sat up cautiously and took inventory of his surroundings.
He was in the middle of a small room. The wall paper was yellow and peeling around thrift store quality framed paintings. There was a couch that may have once matched the wallpaper, but now was faded and stained. Leading from the room, he could see an unimpressive kitchen and a hallway that, he assumed, connected to a bedroom and a bathroom. A smudged window revealed a city view from several stories high. It was an apartment, and a rather grungy one at that, he thought.
This room, this whole apartment, was not familiar, but the word "home" repeated in the naked man's head. With the word still feeling foreign, he stood up and went down the hall.
His assumption had been correct, there was a bathroom. Looking himself over, he cringed. He looked so weak, so fleshy, so... human.
But what else would I be? He leaned in closer to see his face more clearly. Blue eyes stared back, looking for an answer. A purpose.
"Who am I?" He said aloud. His own voice, staccato and robotic, made him straighten his shoulders and tighten his jaw. Brushing a wisp of hair back into place, he spoke to the reflection, drawing a name that felt right. "You are Mr. Smith."