You know that feeling you get when you've taken a really long nap and wake up? I'm talking about the, don't-know-where-I-am, what-day-is-it, where-the-hell-is-my-mom kind of feeling.

I just experienced that.

Except it didn't clear up in a few minutes. I wasn't able to blink the sleepiness away. I didn't recognize my surroundings and I couldn't even remember if I had a mom. All I could see was the fraying olive tarp above, all I could smell was stale air, like a room full of wet, moldy towels. Still, I took a deep breath, attempting to get my bearings. It was like coming up after being underwater for years.

Where the fuck am I?

My mind raced, but I was coming up blank. Well, not exactly blank, per-se. I was calculating my surroundings with military precision. Green tarp, standard issue, but in bad condition. Dark stains clung to the plastic almost as though they were a pattern. Mold. At least it accounted for the smell.

I made an effort to get up but my muscles refused to cooperate. They were stiff, uncooperative. My whole body seemed this way, my mouth like sandpaper, my limbs rigid and unyielding. I realized at once how long I had to have been laying here like this. For a moment, panic seeped in, like liquid fire running through my veins. I took a gasping, rattling breath and the panic swept away. Adrenaline rushed in to take its place.

I struggled out of it, still trying to get the world to stop spinning. When I managed to pull myself out of the stupid thing, I confirmed my first thought. I had been lying, probably unconscious, in a ugly tent. It looked like it had rained; the top was bent in and holding a bunch of dirty water. The poles holding it up were bent with the weight. Cheap thing would have probably crashed on top of me if I hadn't got out of it when I did. I stepped closer to look at it. The poles were rusted. How long had the thing been there? How long had I been in it?

This was not good.

I scoured my mind, desperately grabbing for any scrap or hint. I came up blank. Well, not completely blank. It appeared I was something of a genius. My mind was running a mile a minute; I probably could have done calculus in my head if I tried. The thing that had me freaking out was the fact that I didn't have a single personal memory. I spun around to look at my surroundings, hoping to shed some light. I was in some sort of forest. Green, deep, dark green the exact shade of the tent met my eyes. The trunks were massive, thicker than my arm was long. I had seen these trees before.

Wakanda.

I was surprised at how quickly the memory came to me. I recognized these trees because I had seen them before. I was in Africa. I didn't know how I knew it, but I did. As sure as the sky was blue, that tent was ugly and I had a headache that felt like I drank a handle of malt liquor the night before, I knew I was in Wakanda .

Now there was a new issue. Why the hell was I in Wakanda? I looked at my hands. White. Tan though. I had to admit I had nice hands. But they most definitely were not the hands of an African man. I focused again, trying to follow the train of thought that Africa had triggered. Nothing. I sighed and turned back to the tent. Maybe there would be a clue in there.

Getting back into the tent was harder than getting out of it. I narrowly avoided an impromptu shower of rusty, stale water trying to shimmy into the opening. The whole thing started to cave in, but not before I laid eyes on a duffel bag. It looked like the tent, drab and shabby. Government issued by the look of it. It wasn't my taste at all. For some reason it seemed natural to me that this all had something to do with the government. Maybe I was one of those crazy conspiracy theorists.

I unzipped the bag and shook it out. A long, thin package rolled out and onto my lap. It was wrapped in brown paper. I pulled the paper back and two katanas rolled out. I grasped the wooden handles and felt a familiar sensation run through me. This felt right. I knocked the paper off completely to get a good look at them. Long, thin and lethal, they were gorgeous. I looked back at the handles. They were intricately carved, not professionally obviously, but by the owner. It was my handiwork. I knew that I loved these weapons, for whatever reason. I also knew that I was good with them. I was the damn best. The Annie Oakley of swords, beautiful and deadly.

I just wasn't sure what that said about me.

I shook the thought and wrapped them up again, carefully. The only other thing in the bag was a change of clothing and a canteen. Great. I was glad for the swords though; they gave me some insight, some piece of my identity. I flipped the bag over. There was a name on it.

WADE WILSON

It was in neat black letters, embroidered on. They were faded, like the bag was well worn. Wade Wilson. That was my name. Or at least, that was what I was going to call myself. It was a weird name. I wondered what kind of drugs my mother was on to name me Wade. Maybe she was an English professor with an alliteration fetish. Or maybe she just threw some scrabble tiles at the wall and picked whatever landed on the floor face up. Either way, it was unique. I kind of liked it. No one else would have that name. And it was another piece that was uniquely me.

I repacked the bag and decided I had spent enough time in the tent. It was time to figure out what I was doing in Wakanda. I decided my story would be that I was a soldier, American by the looks of it (even though I don't think I am American-but that's irrelevant since I'm not sure) and I had been abandoned. I would tell the truth about my memory loss, I had no choice, though I preferred not to. I grabbed my bag, strapped on the boots that had been in it, and set off. I walked north; I always liked north, it was a good, forward direction. Something was telling me to walk this way, some instinct that I couldn't afford to ignore. So North I walked. It didn't take long to get out of the trees and into a small clearing with a pond. I paused next to it, needing to see my reflection.

It was a nice reflection. I looked to be a inch or so taller then six feet; I had dark brown hair. It was messy and a little bit long, but it made sense somehow. I was tan, built like a soldier. I was good looking.

And apparently, a narcissist.

Still, I know a good looking man when I see one, and it added a little swagger to my step that I fell into that category. I practiced some facial expressions for my benefit. I smiled, frowned, looked surprised. I was trying on things, seeing what worked, what felt natural. I had a crooked, almost devilish smile. Overall, I decided that I had a charming sort of look to me, like a rogue. I wouldn't trust myself if I saw me. Hopefully other people would.

After entertaining myself for a few minutes, and drinking some water, I started walking again. It was maybe a half hour before a town came into sight. It was pretty large, but definitely not a city. Maybe there I would find some answers.

Either way, I didn't have a lot of options. There were some serious downsides to having no memory.