The nameless man, or “he of many names”, walks around the city blocks aimlessly. He knows the area but doesn't have a connection to any of it. Yes, Bleeker street is 3 blocks north and Main Street it 2 blocks east. Yet there are no memories of these streets, no personal experiences that he can muster up.
Did you go into that bodega often? What about the pizzeria across the street? What of these clothing stores? What do I prefer urban outfitters or the expensive suit store down the road? It is a strange feeling to know where you are but to not be familiar with your surroundings. A man yells out "John", he turns to see if the man was calling for him, he wasn't. Who am I? and what hit my head so hard? Where am I even going? Maybe I should go to the hospital and get my head checked out.
Two black Chevy Suburbans roll up and stop short. He pays them no mind. Two men wearing suits jump out of each truck and rush toward him. "Come with us," a man exclaims. He looks up and sees earpieces in each man’s ear. One man on each side of him grabs his arm. They walk with him towards the truck. "What are you guys doing? What the fuck?" He struggles as they continue to walk him toward the truck. Looking confused he switches his focus from one man to another, "What the hell, get off me" he says nervously. “Sleep,” he hears as he feels a pinch to his neck. Before he can turn around and say ouch he is thrown into the car and blacks out.
Faint voices can be heard in the darkness before he fades away again. An unknown amount of time passes as he can see a dim light before slipping into darkness again. Later, louder voices wake him. This time he can hear 3 different distinct voices. The voices stop as he regains consciousness. They wait for him to appear aware, and then the questions come rapid fire. “Where the hell have you been Ivo?” “What did you do with all of the assets?” “We haven’t been able to contact Mullins in days. Where is she?” “Did you take care of the targets?” Cluelessly, he looks at the people in front of him, “Ivo? That’s me, right?”
“They” interrogate him for hours. They ask him questions. They poke and prod him. The doctors come in and take tests and scans. They conclude that it is true, he does have amnesia. Five people sit around a conference table in the room next to him. One asks, “What do we do with him?” Two others respond at the same time, one says “release and watch him” the other says “dispose of him.” After a few moments they agree to let him go and put some eyes on him. The operating officers are brief on the plan to return him and given orders to put some surveillance on him. As they walk out one of the leaders from the meeting comes to an agent holding his arm as if to ask him to stay. They look at each other the leader simply states “he’s gotta go.”
He sits in the back seat with that very officer to the right of him. No words are spoken for miles. They drive into an area that appears post-apocalyptic. Many of the houses appear to have burned down, some have been demolished. There are rusted cars littering the streets. He looks over at the agent “Ivo is short for Ivoceno isn’t it?” The man next to him leans in close, the man’s arm reaches across him. The agent whispers into his ear “Yes it’s Ivoceno. I’m supposed to off you buddy. I can’t to do it. None of us in this car can. We owe you. I’m giving you a chance… get out.” The car never stops but it slows down slightly as it drives around a larger rusted bus sitting in the middle of the street. The agent opens the truck door and pushes Ivo out. Instinctively Ivo tucks and rolls softening the blow as he hits the ground. He rolls and ends in a kneeling position. His face changes from confused to focused. His eyes move rapidly for a moment. He thinks to himself, “that’s right it's Ivoceno, Ivoceno Rossini that is. I… remember.”