A story perhaps worth writing.
Noise. A clustering of sounds filled the air; blaring horns, roaring engines, screaming people, and loudest of all was a ringing that shrieked above all else. The noise grew and grew as it consumed everything around it. Until suddenly, there was nothing. A tranquil silence loomed over a lush canopy. Laying upon the grass was a man no older than thirty five. As he returned to the world of the living harsh beams of light pierced into his deep golden brown eyes. "Where?", He managed before a sharp pain, born from a gash in his leg, clouded his mind and demanded all attention. The man had no memory of the injury nor its origin. He moved to examine the wound and came to learn the case was not unique. His body has been beaten and broken, large bruises adorned his limbs while cuts and scrapes covered his torso. One might think this man was a survivor of a vicious attack by a wild animal. The injured man tore a piece of cloth from his garment and moved to treat his wound. The torn flesh had been covered in dried blood signaling that he had been comatose for an extended period of time. The grotesque scene was overshadowed by the strange purple and blue glow that seemed to originate from his very blood. He cleaned the wound and wrapped it tight causing a small gush of blood. As the crimson liquid flowed the grass in its wake grew in size and strength, strange new flowers seemed to bloom, and the earth seemed hungry to drink the carnivorous nectar. The man mustered the energy and through sheer will stood upon two feet. He was not tall by any comparison standing at just under six feet. He was well built but not muscular and had dark tan skin, the result of long days and hard labor. His hair was dark and short, the standard military cut with a thick unruly beard, but long silver streaks cut across the black mane. The extreme contrast in color seemed almost unnatural. As the pain slowly subsided the man retained conscious thought. The field of view gave sight to a dense green forest that echoed the sounds of birds singing. "Where am I?", the man inquired yet again. He tried to recall the events that lead to his current position but could muster nothing. His mind was a haze and soon dread fell upon him. He was not simply unable to recall recent memories, he could not bring forward a single scene of the past. He remembered not home, work, loved ones, nor even himself. Try as he would, even his name eluded him. The man looked onto himself for answers. He wore a long coat over blue jeans and a buttoned down shirt. Suspenders stretched over his shoulders and hidden beneath his left arm was a holstered revolver. He gripped the arctic pinewood handle and drew the firearm. The weapon was made of a steel so brilliant one might mistake it for silver, the barrel was ordained with intricate designs depicting odd animals in an eternal hunt. Returning the revolver to it's holster, the man continued to scour himself in search of clues. He looked to his belt and saw additional shells, perhaps a dozen or so, and alongside them a small bronze badge. He pulled the ornament from his waist to exame it closer. *Dorlan D. Chain* *Crime Scene Investigator* *Toronto P.D*
Dorlan had recovered his name but it bore no familiarity. He could faintly recall the meaning of an "investigator" but the specifics of his former duty failed him. However, it was the word "Toronto" that caused a reverberation within his mind. A sudden wave of nausea overtook Dorlan as he stumbled to the floor. He no longer saw the green forest but instead a street on fire. Ambulances blared their horns as they charged down the road, singed corpses riddled the pavement, and again the ringing returned. The sound grew and grew until again it stole consciousness away from Dorlan.