Pain. It radiated from every part of his body. As his mind slowly returned from the foggy darkness, specifics came to focus. His head was throbbing. The rest of him wasn't doing much better. There was a thundering roar in his ears. He was soaking wet.

Cautiously he began to move fingers and toes. Successful, he then attempted to roll onto his back. His effort was foiled by a fit of gurgled coughs, expelling water from his lungs and leaving him still sprawled on his side. When the fit ended he opened his eyes, and was rewarded with sharp bright light. He blinked and his eyes adjusted.

Well, that went well didn't it? He frowned at the thought. All considered it shouldn't have seemed a strange one to have, except that something felt off. He had no real idea what he had meant by that statement. Confusion registered followed by an increasing sense of fear. What had he meant?

He shook his head. Come on now,... he began to urge himself, yet his thoughts paused. Panic spread as he muddled through his mind. His name. He had been trying to think of his name. Nothing came. Hurriedly his mind raced, searching it's own recesses for any source of memory. Blank.

"Any sign of him?" The shout startled him out of his search. Someone else was here. He looked towards the sound and found nearly above him a rather towering waterfall surrounded by a tree-covered ledge. Had he fallen from there? It certainly explained his current condition.

"Nothing!" came a reply, this voice slightly softer than the first. Two people, both men it seemed even as the voices were distorted by the roaring water. Maybe they could help him. Gingerly he started to raise himself and opened his mouth to speak. "No way he survived that fall. Can't believe you shot a kid!"

His blood ran cold. Were they talking about him? They had to be; there was no one else around. He'd been shot? They'd shot him? Instinctually he began to move and search for a wound, yet stopped himself. They were looking for him and wanted him dead. So he stilled, closing his eyes and willing his body not to shiver from the freezing river water.

"Stop yacking and get down there already!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going..." He heard what seemed to be rocks and other debris falling from the ledge. Some of it pelted him yet still he remained motionless. His heart raced; what now? Think I'm dead. Just think I'm dead...

Suddenly the noise stopped.

"No way," the closer voice yelled. "Too steep down here. I'll break my own neck. Kid's dead, or will be soon enough. No way he survived all that, 'specially without all the techno-crap in him anymore."

He resisted the urge to frown. Techno-crap, what did that mean?

A long pause followed. "Fine. Let's get out of here then. We've got work to do."

He relaxed yet waited even long after he heard the man climb back up the ledge. The silence lingered. He hated to think what he would, or even could, have done had that man actually come down. The more pressing question though was simple; what would he do now?

First things first, he decided; he needed to get out of the river. He rolled onto his back. Again his muscles protested, yet soon he was on his feet. His legs ached and shook, yet he could stand on them. He took a tentative step and instinctively began to favor his left leg.

He felt so exposed out in the open. He needed to move in case those guys decided to come back. He painstakingly made his way to the bank. Under a small grouping of branches which would provide some cover he sat, trying to gain a feel of his surroundings. All around were trees with no signs of stopping. Great.

Now what? He frowned. He had no idea. The only thing he did know for certain was there were guys out to kill him. Yet he didn't know who they were or what they looked like. He didn't even know why they wanted him dead.

He turned his attention to himself. Maybe that would give him some clues.

He was wearing a rather strange gray outfit with black and red trim. The pants and one arm were ripped. Had he not recently been wading in water it seemed likely they would also be blood stained. Tentatively he pulled back the frayed fabric and winced. His chest hurt too, like a dull ache. He placed a hand on his side then took a deep breath. Ugh. He wouldn't be surprised if a rib or two were broken.

Wait; there was something on the sleeve. He cranked his neck to look closer. An insignia, but for what? He stared at the strange design. No letters; no real help. A thought danced along the corners of his mind. Davenport Industries. What was that? Was his unusual attire some sort of uniform? He waited, yet his mind refused to yield any more.

That was it. No pockets, no wallet or ID. Great.

He was getting nowhere fast. He needed to find help. But which way to go? He glanced behind him towards the trees. The landscape looked uneven and thick. No way in his condition would he make it far. Plus, a small part in the back of his mind spoke up, he could disguise his movements easier if he followed the river. Still risky, yet his mind was settled. If it kept him off the bad guys' trail it would work for him.

Another thought crossed his mind; what if he was a bad guy? No, he wouldn't believe that. It didn't feel right. But now that wasn't important. Right now he needed to think on just how to get out of here.

Returning again to his feet, he made his way back to the water. The river was shallow. As he walked, his mind again searched the corners of itself for signs of... well, anything. He tried to think of just how he'd gotten here and why he was out in the middle of nowhere. Had he been camping? A school trip? No answers. So he began with simple things. What was his name? Nothing, not even a letter. His age? No clue. Well a tiny one; those two men had called him a kid. Something twisted inside.

"I'm not a kid," his voice growled. The sound made him pause. It was so eerily strange yet familiar all at once. And he was right; while it did sound young, it wasn't the voice of a child. Okay then.

The river became deeper and his steps more forced. He moved towards the river's edge, still willing himself forward. Not far enough yet. He needed to keep going. He tried to think of words, to see if he could associate them with something. Family? People, his mind responded. School? Training, came the reply, and a strange one at that. Okay then; home. Lab, his mind told him. He scolded. This amnesia thing sucked.

He continued to wobble and slide his way down the bank. Occasionally his foot slid the wrong way or landed in a small hole causing him to trip. Soon he began to fall and decided he had enough. Maybe walking in the river wasn't such a good idea.

At least his feet were still dry. It was perhaps one of the few perks of his getup. The boots on his feet were nice and sturdy.

A sudden chill came over him as he sat on the bank again. The sun had started to slip below the tree line. Well, if anything, at least he knew which way was west. Considering he had no real idea where he was going that knowledge did little good. Now what? He had no provisions. It would be dark soon, and cold, if the chill in the air now was any indication.

Leaves. That sounded right. People burrowed themselves in leaves to stay warm. Okay then. It was a plan at least. The process was slow and tedious, hampered by his growing exhaustion. Still he managed to collect a good pile before the sun was completely gone, placing it under a small grouping of bushes. It would have to work. It would work.

He wondered if anyone was worried about where he was, or if anyone was actually looking for him. Did anyone care? As he crawled down onto the leaf pile bitterness brewed. Who left a young person alone in the woods anyway? Where were his parents? Then a more somber question; did he even have parents? He curled tighter into a ball. It was going to be a long night.

He just hoped he survived it.