Tables turned (for bigkitty75)

[head_psychic]

The sound of wind. Loud. Steady. Interrupted, from time to time, but oh so loud, rippling through his body, pounding in his ears and he needs a good minute to realize that it is his own breathing. In. And out. And in. And out again. It stings a little, he sounds winded, strained, wheezy

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[head_psychic]

Someone's talking, next to him, he is not alone but that doesn't surprise him because he knew that already. But this one is close, nearby, next to him.

He needs to look.

His head hurts, a lot of things hurt but he knows he has to look. He raises his hand, slowly, carefully and places it underneath his own chin, pushing, forcing his head to the side so he can see.

Man, young, late twenties, dark skin, shaved head, suit. Ripped tie, not a cheap one, looks like a salesman. Expressive face, striking almost, not unpleasantly, just not someone you walk past and instantly forget, no, someone easy to remember for a longer period. Curious voice, thinking, analyzing, eyes still a little dazed, confused, but not completely out of it. Blood on his forehead, cut matches the stain on the headrest which probably means that the man was thrown against him and then fell into the spot next to him from where he's talking now.

"Hello," he says because he doesn't know what else to say. "Are you the driver?"

At the same time something flashes in his head, something that tells him No, he isn't, are you stupid? That guy could only be the driver if he was whirled in the back of the car and judging his current position that's impossible. The only way that could have happend was if his legs and his back were broken and managed to fold him up enough to squeeze him through the front seats.

Which is just gross. Besides, his legs look just fine.

"There's been an accident," he informs the other, because it seems only fair. "You're not the driver. And I'm not the driver. So not our fault." This, he thinks, is a very vital point and he's glad this is cleared up. That they are not in any trouble over this.

[head_psychic]

"I don't know."

He tries to look around without moving his head too much. Lets his eyes wander. Thinks.

There is no smoke. The dust has settled, and it's quiet. Onlookers aren't quiet. Besides, there are no city noises, no car honks, nothing. "I don't think anybody has."

He presses his lips to a thin line and tries to sit up. "We gotta get out."

[head_psychic]

He blinks, his eyes settling to the handcuffs the same time the other one starts cursing.

But that doesn't make cuffs, back of the car, police sense arrest, he waits for the weird automatism to click into place, to tell him what's going on. The first logical explanation that comes to his mind is that they are both where is the driver criminals.

He tries to move, he feels dizzy, he doesn't care.

"Move. Let's get outside. I need to see the car." He frowns at the other guy. He doesn't know what's going on but clearly they are in this together. "There has to be a key."

[head_psychic]

He takes a look at the car. Patrol car. Back of a patrol car. Cuffed.

So they are criminals. They have to be. Wait, why doesn't he know? Why does he have to figure out all that stuff?

And then the dude asks him who he is and suddenly he knows why. He looks at the other man, there is nothing, nothing, it is all gone, he just does not know. The mind that starts racing when he spots a dust particle suddenly is blank and empty and he doesn't know which alternative scares him more.

"I..." He shrugs, he feels helpless. "I don't know. I can't remember. What about you? Who are you?"

[head_psychic]

"You don't remember anything either, huh."

Although the odds for both of them losing their memory are ridiculous he knows the guy is not lying to him. Somehow he can read him, somehow he knows and it saves him a lot of time being hostile and suspicious. This guy is just as tabula rasa as he is.

He checks his pockets as well but ends up shrugging. "Me neither. No I.D."

He breathes in and out, deeply, trying to clear his head from... yeah, well, from the chaos of nothing being in there. "Look, I..." He looks at the car, at the cuffs, back at his companion. "I think we may be criminals."

[head_psychic]

"In charge?" He tilts his head and thinks for a moment. "I guess so, yeah. I think I was in charge." Because when he thinks about following someone else or listening to directions there is something in his head that yells no, amigo! not gonna happen so he figures, yeah, he leads the way.

"This is confusing. Alright, let's think this through." He'd love to start pacing but that's impossible due to the cuffs. "If we were heading somewhere the cops will realize that we're missing pretty soon. I'd say we find the key, get these things off and make a quick exit."

He shrugs. "At least until we know what's going on. If we're good guys after all we can just show up later and have some tacos, right? But if not this might be our one time chance to get away."

[head_psychic]

He catches the keys and tilts his head to the side, looking at them. And at the cuffs. And at the keys. Images flash in front of his eyes, the shapes trying to match with the lock, no, not this one, not this one, this.

He picks out the winner and slides it into the keyhole. He isn't hesitating one second, he knows he got the right key there. And, unsurprisingly enough, the cuffs click open and they're free.

He looks up and grins at his 'partner'. "Hey, we're awesome."

[head_psychic]

His eyes widen as realization hits him. "Dude, you're right! We totally need names."

But how do you figure out what to call yourself when you got no idea what's going on - or who you are? "Uhmm..." He scratches the back of his hand and looks around.

Idea!

He kneels down and takes one of the wreck's shards, looking inside.

For a moment he just stares at his reflection. It's telling him nothing and that freaks him out. "Hey, I... got nice hair." He carefully runs his hand through it. "Spikey."

He blinks and looks up, grinning. "Hey, what do you think? How about it? Spikey?"