Per 
An old man lies in a small dark room. He stares at a window in the door, it brings in a dull grey light, but it's too high up for him to see the source. With every breath he takes, the thin blanket on his chest rises a distance so small even he can barely notice. He takes his eyes away from the window and turns his attention to the ceiling, a flat, dark gray surface with one hole in the middle for a burnt-out lightbulb that hasn't been changed for years. His eyes now turn to the old, orange jumpsuit he had taken off the night prior to sleep. It had gathered stains and holes over the years. On it was the designation for this man: D-1. Once D-1 was done staring at everything in his room. He closed his eyes as an odd feeling came over him. He knew that his name was not D-1 but couldn't remember what it was before. So, in an effort to find his name, he tries to remember his past.
Back when the ceiling light shone, two figures walked into D-1's room. One was short and talked in a surprisingly deep voice, while the other one was tall but, was silent throughout the meeting. They took him to another room, where he was evaluated. They took his height, weight, temperature and made observations about other things that D-1 didn't understand. Once they were finished, the two figures stepped out and talked with each other, revealing the tall one's quiet monotone voice, about what they would do with him. Talk off asphyxiation and children's television was all he could hear before the sound of footsteps came along, cutting the conversation short. D-1 was escorted back to his room and given an apology for having his time wasted. D-1, not knowing what was going on, accepted this apology and went back inside his room to wait for the next test. In the present, D-1 shudders as the same odd feeling coming over him. He needs to go further.
Now a younger man, D-1 stays awake, anticipating his first chance at testing one of these anomalies he's been hearing about. No, not anticipation, dread. It's dread he's feeling. He's sweating bullets and feels like he'll throw up if he moves an inch, but he can't lay still either. Eventually, he hears a knock on his door. Quickly, he stands up while watching the figure enter the door. He can't remember any details about the figure, their face, their voice, not even what they said. After talking, the figure takes him out of his room while another person goes in and leaves very soon after. After weeks of D-1 being by himself, the figure comes back and pulls a fancy-looking key out from a hole in his bed he hadn't noticed before. D-1 is asked questions he can't remember and gives answers he can't remember. He is placed back into his room without delay so he can wait for his next test. Currently, a cold plate of something that looks like eggs but isn't slides into his room and is ignored, however. On his bed, D-1's breaths get smaller as he tries to remember even further.
Even younger, D-1 sits in an alleyway behind a garbage can. As he rubs his hands together, he watches the people walking. He remembers none of them, so he imagines them as formless shapeless blobs moving back and forth until one in a white coat came up to him. With a promise, he got D-1 onto his feet and walking to his car. Somewhere to sleep and something to eat was what he was promised it seemed like a good deal. All he had to do was help them out and, he got food and shelter for a month. It was right when he sat down did he recognize what he had agreed to do. The seat opposite of him was occupied by a man he could recall with surprising detail. He had a wrinkled, stained lab coat, short wild hair, deep circles under his bloodshot eyes that looked straight at him. The man had his hand close to his lumpy pocket, ready to grab whatever was in it in case D-1 tried to leave. D-1 stayed in that seat without looking away from that man for the entire trip, frozen in fear while he heard about incomprehensible things from the people in the front. He was getting closer to his name. He could feel it. He could also sense the odd feeling getting stronger, more potent. He needed to find his name quickly.
His memory is faltering now, snapshots of frozen time are all he has. His dad with a red face, his mouth open as if yelling. Now he's in his room, putting his clothes into a case. Now he's outside, and the trees in front of him are blurred. Finally, it hits him, he remembers the sound of his dad yelling his name. As the final wave of this odd feeling hit him, he understood what it was, he was dying. As he felt death come over him, he did not fight back against it, he had gotten what he wanted. Soon after, James passed away with a smile on his face. His keepers had forgotten him, the outside world has forgotten him, and a small, quiet, but there nevertheless, part of him thinks that his family had forgotten him too. None of it mattered though, he remembered and that's all he wanted.
