I Am the Real One, Right? (ONC2024)

Chapter Two: A Bank Heist

As I mentioned before, three months back, I woke up in a hospital bed. To quickly recap: struck by lightning, found naked, no belongings, and having forgotten my identity. I remembered every trivial thing—from the president's name to random country facts — but when it came to recalling who I was, my mind was like an information black hole. Anyway, I shared my hospital room with three more men, all bandaged up.

From their chatter, it seemed they all knew each other. Was I part of their crew? "Hello, are you guys together? What happened to you?" I ventured.

The eldest, who seemed to be their leader, sported a thick mustache and had his head wrapped in bandages. "Yeah, we're a team. We were about to rob a bank," he said with a hint of pride in his voice.

I was shocked. "The cops did this to you?" That would have been pretty brutal.

"No," he replied, "We were on our way to the bank when our car crashed into a pole."

"Oh," was all I could manage.

"What's your name?" he asked me.

"I don't remember. I don't remember anything about myself. Do you know who admitted me? Did someone come to visit me?" I asked, hopeful.

He shook his head. "No."

Out of courtesy, I asked for his name. "Philadelphia," he answered.

"Philadelphia? As in the city?" I was baffled.

"Yes," he said, clearly annoyed. "That's my alias. We're robbing a bank; we can't use our real names, knucklehead."

I couldn't help but probe further. "But why Philadelphia? Couldn't you pick something shorter, easier to call out, like Tokyo?"

He gave me a look of pure disgust. "Do I look like I'm from Tokyo to you? I'm from Philly, so of course, I picked Philadelphia."

It was clear they hadn't quite grasped the concept of an alias. Turning to the second guy, a towering figure with a shiny bald head, I asked, "And you? What's your name?"

"Philadelphia," he sneered.

I knew the answer but had to ask. "You're also 'Philadelphia'?"

"Obviously. I'm from Philly too," he retorted.

I didn't dare ask the third guy, a skinny fellow with glasses, but he introduced himself anyway. "Hi, I'm Philadelphia."

For a moment, I wished the lightning had finished me off. But little did I know, I was about to become the fourth "Philadelphia."

The first one spoke up again. "Do you drive?"

"Yes," I replied. I couldn't remember what I drove, but I knew I could drive.

"Want to join us?" he asked. "Hell no," I thought. But before I could decline, he added, "What will you do after they discharge you? Live like a homeless person? It's a simple job. You just drive us to the bank and get us out."

"None of you can drive?" My curiosity piqued.

"Philadelphia used to, but his license got seized." I didn't ask which one. "Don't worry, as a driver, you're at zero risk. It's the safest money you'll make," the bald one assured me. He added, "We wouldn't be asking if our previous driver was still with us."

"What happened to him?" I inquired.

"Oh, he's dead," the bald guy replied, almost too casually.

Quite ironic, I thought, considering he was supposed to be at zero risk.

I mulled over their proposal, the irony of the "safest job" still echoing in my thoughts. A week dragged by, and with no past to claim and no future in sight, those three became my unlikely companions. They also promised to introduce me to someone who could help me find my identity. Their hideout, a nondescript apartment crammed with plans and props, became my new home. And before I knew it, two weeks had zipped past, and D-Day was upon us.