#adarshthreads

"This prohibition will be in effect until the predecessors are…removed."

Adarsh did not like that whomever had put them here - yes he realised he'd wanted this but he was still under the assumption that someone else was responsible for his perdicament - could just punish them like this, for no good reason.

Or well, for nothing good he could understand.

He'd mulled it over: it would be an option to actuallly remove the two new people who were clearly not part of their little band of Superheroes. But he'd shuddered when he'd realised how easily he'd thought about it as something he could do.

No, there were easier ways to get rid of someone. And with how crazy most people he knew were, he figured he could probably scare them off. Even though he found most people seemed to have some control over their powers, the newcomers didn't need to know that.

He'd made a plan before he'd even spotted the first one, moving to her side with faked tension. "That announcement, it was about you, wasn't it?" he asked. "You must've heard it too." He tried to make his voice sound worried, softly, in case anyone would be listening in.

With a gruff expression and eyes filled with glee at the possibility of further discovering the island - as if he hadn't already covered a lot of land in general - Adarsh pushed one of the makeshift bows into Emre's hands. "Know how to use this, Akbar?" he asked, adding a few arrows to the mix. "No guns allowed on this trip, too loud." Too loud and too easy to spot, he figured Emre was aware of the man who got killed on one of Adarsh's expeditions into the dangerous areas of the islands. Since then he'd vowed not to take guns into the place.

He gnashed his teeth and his gruff expression turned into a grin. "If you do have a weapon, I'd like you to drop it right here, you can pick it up when we get back, but know I picked you because you don't seem trigger happy." He studied the other. "You have sharp eyes, you're going to need them out there." He threw a backpack over his shoulders and tied the holder with arrows to his hip. "Last chance to turn back."

Adarsh liked to think he was no longer the man who'd landed on the beach over a year ago without any memory of who he was. Just a name - a false name at that. Though he was certain even the knowledge of who he'd been couldn't really change much about who he was - how he was, what he was.

He smiled more easily, talked more easily, managed to keep his rage in check - thanks to sparring on the beach regularly. He'd made himself useful. And with being useful he'd become - or so he liked to believe - indespensible.

Confidence grew quickly.

And now... when time called for it, he liked to be the voice of reason. When the call came about a punishment, Adarsh had been near the warehouse. Others moved towards it too, with clear intentions - or so he thought. He did not think twice about making the assumption that there would be looting, walking quickly to stop anyone from leaving with too much of what still remained.

He wasn't the only sane person, it would seem. And the one to appear was no other than Selin, who he'd been avoiding. The crowds quickly drove them together.

He decided to take the lead, though he thought anyone would be more likely to listen to Selin than him.

"Alright everybody! Warehouse food is under lock-down until we can figure out a way to ration amounts to everyone!" he called. "Back up from the door or I'll set this one on you," he announced, pointing at Selin.

It was a good thing that Adarsh felt a constant need to roam and be outside, either to spend his time in nature or the nervous energy to keep on moving. Else, he would’ve been a shut-in for sure, writing down his thoughts and trying to figure out more of who he’d left behind. Not just the other people in his life, but himself as well. 

Not that being outside left him with many more options than inside however, he still walked around thinking, he walked around attempting to stir some thought, some memory, but all he got was the void gaping back at him, giving him nothing but that one image of a name written in Sanskrit, the name he had adopted as his own. 

It was starting to become clear that his best option might be to just… be someone new. To ignore his left behind memory and do something with everything he did know. He figured he could be useful. Right? Probably not in company, but he must have some skills. 

He took a deep breath and wandered down to the beach again. He was only wearing his UV shirt now, he hadn’t been able to wash Chance’s blood from his tank top, and he didn’t want the reminder. He stopped when he spotted Selin. He remembered the last words she said to him: in case he needed help with anything. He needed help with being helpful. 

He had apologised for before, hadn’t he? Or should he lead with that. 

Adarsh couldn’t say why, but leaving the door to his bungalow open whenever he was there and not sleeping or showering was so natural he hadn’t even questioned it. He simply let it be as he tried out the stove for a second time within the small space - the idea of making a fire on the beach again and dragging all the ingredients down with him was less enticing this time. He was also worried that if he did that too often, people would think he was doing it on purpose. And there was a small thought - though once again it seemed Bollywood movie scene instead of memory - of homeless people making low-ingredient street food next to actual food vendors. 

He gritted his teeth together as he tried to remember the order of the recipe he was attempting to make. He didn’t know the name, but it had started out similar to the masala paste he’d made before. Garlic, union, ginger, a shitton of herbs and spices, and a good three tablespoons of masala garam, and there he was stranded again. 

He figured he should then use it to marinate the meat - which he’d raided from the kitchen not even having asked what kind it was. But instead he was staring at the pan, arms crossed, motionless. 

Nothing so far had sparked any kind of memory.

And despite how little time had passed, Adarsh was already extremely frustrated. 

From what he knew factually - which seemed to be plenty - head injuries severe enough to completely make someone’s memory disappear - except for one name - were movie material, story material. Not real life, at least not that he seemed to recall. Not that he trusted whatever vast knowledge that he held, because it might be enough to make his way around, to give him tidbits of info when what he wanted was memories, it wasn’t substantial. It felt like he’d read an encyclopaedia one day and decided to remember only fifteen percent of it but without rhyme or reason. 

He couldn’t even tell what the name of the language he dreamt in was. 

Though that could also be withheld from him intentionally.

No, his memory loss was not… plausible from any type of injury or stress. 

It was the island’s fault. 

Yet, he continued on his quest to find memories. 

Adarsh stared at the water as if it had personally insulted him, as if with a single look he could force it to part before him, split like that one guy from... was it Christianity? Clearly whomever he was had little interest to retain information regarding religion. He could barely recall a thing even if he wanted to. No impressions or rules or rituals or words to live by.

Or perhaps religion was so deeply tied to his memories that those were lost to him forever.

Could that be? That everything that retained some intense connection to him was muddled and vague and thus not within the waters of knowledge he seemed to have.

Some of it was useful information, but what if nothing would lead him to any answers.

He could swim.

But he doubted he was a strong enough swimmer to make it to the cruise ship and back onto it.

So instead he stared at the water and blamed its tide for his inability to get his answers. For good measure he hit it with rocks. It only made a small splash, but the exercise of throwing stones at least made him feel a bit better. As he yelled 'Take that!' in the language he didn't know the name of.

Clearly he hadn't been someone who played Baseball when he was younger.

He cursed at the ground as he looked for more rocks.

He touched the wakeboard shirt he was wearing. Had he grown up near the beach? Or been near a beach when the island had been taken? Or was the whole population of the island lying to him and had they actually all been on the cruise ship.

But he wasn't wearing swimming trunks? So it had to be an aesthetic choice. Or he burned quickly.