known languages: malayalam, hindi, gujarati, telugu, punjabi, english, swedish, french, arabic, spanish
known skills: boxing,
hair colour: dark brown / black ( finally got it cut )
eye colour: brown
physicality: fit
scars / marks: a few, private information.
*updated after 2 years
ABOUT HIS FILE
Adarsh found his file after his memories had already began to return. At first he couldn't believe he could be stupid enough to sign up for something like this, but he also didn't know what he'd been like those last months - or years - of his life. At least his file stated his name, stated details that he'd been learning through flashes by himself. He still can't remember why he'd sign his life away.
THE ID-CARD
One of the ID-Cards found in the hospital basement was recognised by him right after he'd had a memory of his childhood. The adult in the picture looking like one of the kids he'd once hung out with.
name: Adarsh (probably)
age: 40 (probably)
gender: cis-man
pronouns: he/him
ethnicity: Indian?
hair colour: dark brown / black
eye colour: brown
physicality: fit
scars / marks: a few, private information
INTERVIEW:
“What is the last thing you remember before arriving on the island?”
It was not a silly question, and deep down Adarsh understood that. Everyone had memories of before the island, before they’d woken up in this new place, from a time before, everyone except HIM. The first time he’d heard it he hadn’t gotten angry, but irritation had seeped in by the second time, as he wrecked his brain over and over again to get anything, even if it was a glimpse, even if it was a feeling.
Nothing. Onnumilla.
Just a name, and he wasn’t even sure if that name was his or it belonged to someone else.
“I don’t remember anything.”
“Do you think you will be remembered or forgotten?”
Adarsh wanted to be remembered. Especially since he was the one who had forgotten.
But what did he think? Was he worth remembering? Right now he was nothing, an empty shell, a blank canvas, a clean slate. He could be whatever he wanted to be, yet he craved to know who he was and had been.
It was like a video game. He was the protagonist, dropped somewhere to do something, but unaware of what he could do. Everyone else was secondary, that’s why they remembered who they were, but his backstory was somewhere, yet to be revealed, perhaps tied to the island. If he found it… if he could remember who he was, he might be able to win.
He was SPECIAL.
Maybe who he was knew something about the island that could unlock all the answers. And they all needed him. Without knowing that they needed him. It was his job to figure out who he had been, to find the answers. Everyone else was just there to help him do so.
“Remembered,” he answered, with a shrug, offering a tiny hint of a smile because everyone knew that he didn’t know who he was. That was the main thing to know about him: that and his ability for Healing.
Useful… perhaps.
“What do you feel you could contribute to life on the island?”
What had he been to begin with? What had he contributed to life before the island? He remembered stories, he spoke several languages, but he could not remember where he’d learned them, where he’d read the stories, why he’d read them. He knew he had a gift, like everyone else on the island had a gift, but he had no interest in helping others, he was too busy with needing help himself.
He needed his memories back, not more work to do. But his ability also acted as a way in, he might be a blank canvas, but he was a useful canvas, and he could ensure his own position in a way nobody else could.
“I am a healer,” he said, a proud smile on his face, as if it was an ability he’d ever dreamt of.
He didn’t know if he had.
He wondered though, would he have an opinion on superpowers if he had his memory?
Had he been a healer before? Had he helped people in a life before this one? Maybe been a doctor or a nurse? But he didn’t look at injuries and have a whole catalogue of information at his disposal, so no, he couldn’t have been. Perhaps he’d helped people in other ways, though even that seemed odd. He couldn’t imagine helping people, he didn’t feel the need to reach out and help someone up who had fallen.
Then why healing?
Because it was opportunistic?
That made some kind of sense. At least.
“Do you think with your heart or your brain?”
“A smart man thinks with his brain,” he stated, because how could he trust his heart, he didn’t even know what his heart had experienced. Had he felt heartache? Had he loved and been loved?
But his brain, he might not know who he was himself, he might not be privy to information others on the island were privy to - something he resented them for - but he most certainly had skill. Knowledge of things that he could not explain, nor did they offer him any insight, but it was there: information. How old was he? Forty? So forty years of experience, yet all there was left was the dry facts.
They would have to do.
“What are you most curious about regarding the island?”
Why it had taken his memories, first and foremost. But he didn’t wish to express it like that. He wondered if he was the key to finding the answers, perhaps he was the great mind behind the creation of the island? But then should he not know important details about its layout. His memories had gone, but there were things he’d learned in his life that he still knew now. His mind was analytical, but he was going blank on most technology. He could speak several languages, but not scientifically.
The island would hold the answers he needed, as time passed he grew more certain of that fact.
But how could he get those?
The only way would be to find them all himself or make the other islanders think he was merely helping them collect them. He bit the inside of his mouth at the question. As he tried to settle on his own plan.
Was he a lone wolf? Or a team player?
Time would tell, but he was definitely the protagonist. These people needed him, they just hadn’t realised yet how important he was.
