It's eerily quiet. I might be the only soul unfortunate enough to have slept here last night. I’ve found myself in a desolate motel, surrounded by forest, nestled seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I have no recollection of who I am or how I ended up here last night, my memory up until an hour ago void of anything, completely blank. The person staring back at me in the mirror is unrecognizable, I'm a stranger to myself.
A seed of hope in the form of a leather jacket draped over a small wooden chair helped calm my nerves. I searched through the pockets and found a set of keys, presumably for the only vehicle occupying a space in the car park outside. It's a motorbike, sporty, jet black and chrome with red accents. The license plate read's 'PYLOT', the same word I've found sewn on to the right arm of the leather jacket. My next move is to head out to the bike and see if it starts, after that I've no idea, I don't even know how to ride one.
I also found a notebook on the bed side table with a marker pen resting on top. I’ll use it to document any information I collect moving forward, in hopes of piecing together my past.
