The first thing he noticed was the throbbing in his head, the dull ache that emanated from somewhere between his eyes. It made his mind a bit foggy, made it a bit difficult to piece together his thoughts. The second thing he noticed was the smell, an awful smell that filled his nostrils entirely. Reflexively, he tried to pinch his nose to avoid the stench, but even then, he could taste it in his mouth.

What is that smell? he thought, finally managing to put together a complete idea.

The answer eluded him, just out of reach, as if it were concealed by the fog of his mind, the fog from his headache. Oh, how his head ached. He reached a hand up to touch the spot where the pain was coming from. There was something crusty there. Dried blood? His blood?

He suddenly sat up, realizing that he had been lying down the entire time. From a sitting position, he had a much clearer view of the surroundings, but something wasn't quite working right. As he stared at the objects around him, each gave him a feeling of familiarity. And yet, he was only able to identify some of them, the others failing to come to mind. That's when a question popped into his head.

"Where am I?" he managed, his own voice sounding quite foreign to his ears. It was a rather simple question, and yet, when he tried to recall, tried to force his mind to cooperate, the only answer he obtained was a sharp pain in his head. He...couldn't remember- either where he was or how he had gotten there.

Getting off the bed, he planted two feet on the ground and stood up. Then he noticed where the smell had been coming from; the room was littered with garbage: old food, used cans, and bottles of some mysterious yellow liquid. There was what appeared to be a window, but it had been boarded up, leaving the room fairly dark. The only light seemed to come from the closed door, indicating a hallway beyond the room.

He stood in place, feeling the fog in his mind slowly receding. A second glance and he could identify more things now, call them by name: a cellphone, a television, a laptop, some chemistry equipment. But the question of location still eluded him.

A sudden beeping drew his attention; it had come from beyond the door. He recognized it as the sound of a microwave that had run out its timer. Was there someone else around? For reasons he couldn't quite understand, his body suddenly tensed at the prospect, his heart starting to beat a bit faster. It actually surprised him, how ferociously his heart was pounding in his chest. So much so that he lifted a hand to his chest to feel the rhythmic Lub, Dup, Lub, Dup…

A second clatter once again drew away his attention. This time though, it wasn't fear, but curiosity, which seized him. He wasn't sure why, but he felt compelled to investigate the mysterious noises, to explore more of his surroundings. The initial hesitation was gone, replaced by the need to understand. Slowly, he opened the door.

The hallway was rather dimly lit and only appeared bright in contrast to the darkness of the room. At the end of the hall was a set of stairs. Not the fancy spiral kind, he thought to himself only to wonder where such information had come from. He could only manage first-order thoughts. Thoughts about his thoughts were still beyond his reach. One step after another, he made his way to the stairs and then down them. Thirty steps later, he was at the bottom.

The first floor was a mirror image of the second, garbage scattered all over the place. He wasn't sure if the smell was any better or he had simply become accustom to the stench. Directly in front, he could see another door, presumably leading outside the house. On the door were five different types of locks, bolting the door shut. To the left was another room, family room maybe? But it was the right that drew his interest, as that was the direction the movements were coming from.

He made his approach cautiously, unsure what to expect. And unsure he was when he actually entered what appeared to be the kitchen. At the counter was a teenage, seventeen, eighteen maybe, busy stabbing away at a pizza with a knife. Not cutting. Stabbing. A maniacal laugh could occasionally be heard. He stared at the teen for a moment, before finally interrupting the strange scene.

"What are you doing?" he asked. A simple question, but it caught the teen completely off guard. The teen instantly spun around, knife in hand. A deranged look could be seen in the teen's eyes. Strangely though, he wasn't afraid. Should I be afraid? He didn't have much time to think about it though; as soon as it appeared, it was gone, the crazed look that is. Clarity quickly washed over the teen's eyes, softening them, as he put the knife back down on the counter.

"Ah, Tantei-kun! You're finally awake! You must be starving after sleeping for two whole days," the teen said, a smile working its way onto the teen's face. Somehow, the smile seemed artificial, but he couldn't quite point out why. And had he really been sleeping for two days? Now that it was mentioned, he could feel his stomach begin to rumble, the emptiness beginning to reveal itself. But another question had arisen with the teen's words. Tantei-kun? Who was that? Was it him?

Normally, one doesn't think about one's own name or one's own identity. Normally, there's an implicit cohesion to one's thoughts, the big "I" that holds one's consciousness together. But the teen's words had prompted the abnormal. Who was the "I" in this case?

More so than where was he, the question that now eluded him was: who was he?