It was dark and the rain was pouring, Holepunch has been walking for days at this point. He hobbled along slowly, driven solely by instinct, training. He'd been taught how to ignore pain, and discomfort. He crossed the border into America with relative ease, he was a ghost, unseen, unheard. His mind was broken but his instincts remained. He couldn't remember how long it had been, his name, his home, anything; he just knew he had to keep moving.
Two days later, Holepunch was wandering the streets, eating food out of the garbage and talking to himself. He was noticed by a patrolman, who questioned him, to no avail, having determined there was mental health issues involved with the situation, Holepunch was taken to the hospital were he received treatment for his ripped up feet and cuts on his arms, a nurse noticed a tattoo, it looked military but had no identifying markings on it, no mention of rank, unit, which armed force, nothing to help identify the man, but with that information and holepunch's ramblings using military terminology it was decided it would be best to transfer him to a facility specializing in treating military personal. Holepunch struggled with recollecting how he had gotten here, what had occurred over the last few months, his memory was jumbled, and he instincts told him he wasn't safe, so his guard remained high.
November 4th, 2016 at 05:01am