text: You: "But... But... I can't remember how did I make it to this place, or who am I, or... you are the only person that can help me! :("
  
  Man: "How did a fucking junkie get in my house...?"
  
  You: "No! I swear it's true! I can't remember anything, if you kick me out of here I won't even know where to go to :("
  
  Man: "Well, I'll hate myself for doing this later, but... Let's say I believe you. What do you suggest I do? The only thing I can think of is that the police might know something about you. But you probably should just go straight to a psychiatrist... er... doctor. Or perhaps a hypnotist so you can do a regression, or however those are called. Actually, I know a hypnotist..."
  
  > The police might be helpful for once!
  This man clearly wants to get rid of you, so 5 minutes later you have been given clear instructions to reach the closest police department, being wished "good luck" and had the door locked right behind you as you left the flat.
  
  You walk towards the police department as fast as you can because the whole "I can't remember a thing" is freaking you out. Wait, maybe the thing that's freaking you out is that man dressed in a dark blue suit who is following you. Isn't he?
  
  "Damn, someone traded my memories for a DAMN MENTAL ILLNESS CALLED PARANOIA", you think
  
  > keep walking not giving a damn, it's probably nothing
  "Whatever, I'm freaking out for nothing. Screw him if he's following me, let him run and chase me and interrogate me if that's his intention", you think as you keep walking.
  
  For some reason I think you wouldn't have thought that way before having your memories erased. I'm not sure what would you have thought, but not that, certainly; whatever, let's go back to the interesting thing.
  
  You reach the Police Department with no problems at all, so you suppose your "pursuer" simply happened to have the same route as you. After some minutes thinking on what the hell are you going to tell the police officer in front of you, and noticing that you don't even have a wallet or some sort of identification, or money, or ANYTHING (except for a cool-looking lighter stored in your right pocket), you decide a serious approach will be the best way to finish this. Problem is, taking "a serious approach" is complicated in your current position:
  
  You: "Hi, do you think you could you help me with some problem I have?"
  
  She: "What is it?"
  
  You: "Thing is... I'm really... disoriented... I've woken up in a house I didn't know, with no identifications or anything, and I can't remember anything about myself. The owner of the place didn't recognize me, but he suggested I came here"
  
  She: "Well... Eh... I think it's the first time I've heard something like that. Be honest: Are you on drugs and/or alcohol?"
  
  You: "O.o... No, not that I can remember... Why does everyone ask me that question?"
  
  After a while, she informs you that they have no reports of any missing person who might fit your description. She also says that an investigation to find out who are you may start if you wish so, and while they are at it you could go see a psychiatrist or they could give you a new, temporal identity and some money so you can go and do something useful, you fucking junkie (alright, she doesn't use those words, but that's the impression you get, anyways)
  
  > decide to go to a psychiatrist until the investigation is over
  Seeing a psychiatrist and waiting for the police to fix your problems sounded well. During a week you slept in a room the police lent you (out of pity) that was located in the police department and went to see the psychiatrist. The bad thing is, this "doctor" wasn't exactly the best in his promotion, because after some sessions in which he found absolutely nothing, he decided to send you straight to a mental asylum, saying you had some sort of "schizoidal paranoia" that had been provoked by the prolonged usage of toxic substances, or something like that. Well, maybe it's your paranoia what makes you think he's making all of that up, but you'll never be sure of that, HAHAHAHA
  
  So you complained to the police, you asked for a new doctor... but no, the Fucking psychiatrist had the labs analyze a sample of your blood he took during your first session and in there he found a combination of toxic stuff that could be a worthy opponent to whatever is on Keith Richards's blood, so no one believed you.
  
  At the present time, a cop has come and told you a van from the "medical center" is about to arrive to take you to your new location, leaving the room right after informing you. And he didn't lock the door! This may be your last chance of escaping your fate at the mental asylum, although being back out on the streets with no memories, home, or anything sounds pretty bad, too. Not to mention, the stupid psychiatrist would probably say that you're a dangerous individual and must be terminated
  
  > Trying to escape is not worth the risk, let's just go to the Psychiatric Hospital
  Two nice guys enter your room, introduce themselves, and tell you everything is going to be ok. They lead you to a van, and once in front of it, your (unconfirmed) paranoia tells you getting in the van will be bad. REALLY BAD.
  
  You: "AAAAAAAAAA let me go back to my room!!!" *turning and starting to run back towards the building*
  
  Man #1: *grabbing you* "Oh, I thought we wouldn't have to do this for once!"
  
  Man #2: *forcing you into a straitjacket and pushing you into the van* "Nah, it happens everytime... Shame, he seemed to be pretty relaxed a moment ago"
  
  Man #1: "you can never trust these guys..."
  
  They lock you inside the van, letting the straitjacket on you. You still think something bad is going to happen, but understanding that no matter how much you cry they won't give a damn, you shut up as the driver and the other guy talk happily.
  
  Your paranoia, however, turns out to be right. As the 2 assholes who were sent to pick you up keep on talking like... assholes... the one driving doesn't pay enough attention to the traffic and you all end up crashing into a truck You all die pretty quickly, which is obviously quite bad for you