He groaned and fell to his knee. It was like there was a physical barrier between his current consciousness and what he needed to remember. He slapped his forehead in a further attempt to get it out. Arrgh, at this rate he’d just get taken down by those shadows without even putting up a fight. His body was still sluggish from the ordeal, the darkness sending shivers all over his body and seemingly weighing him down. He wouldn’t last long like this. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, an insignificant form of reassurance in this situation. A purple haired girl was shouting something at him over the din of inhuman shrieks and weird humanoid creatures that seemed to be controlled by some teens (classmates?) that were also present. He managed to catch the last bit of what she was saying.

[color=Blueviolet]“-yourself. Listen to that voice, and you should have the power to pull through."[/color] She spoke with a confident smile.

It seemed she meant well, but to him that smile was as comforting as a crocodile’s (ie. Not at all comforting). Warning bells were going off in his mind and he hastily shook off her hand. Upon first glance, this girl seemed kind enough, but his instincts and the remainder of his memories were screaming otherwise.

“Listen, …uh.” The name escaped him. Whatever, there was no time for tact right now. “I appreciate the pep talk but my memories are kinda not functioning right now and the remaining memory stuff that’s working is saying that I shouldn’t trust you. I was scared of you before, guess I still am.”

He had a feeling he didn’t usually talk this brazenly.

“But we’re in a life or death situation here, so we’ll have to make do. You keep killing stuff with your … cat … Stand … thing , and I’ll back you up and keep working on getting myself back. Deal?”

He pat himself down, looking for something he could use from his pockets. Pencils, phone, slips of paper with notes and little doodles, and … woah, those were definitely against school regulations. Concealed in an inner pocket of the weirdly coloured sweater he was wearing, undetectable from the outside, were a pair of brass knuckle dusters. How someone like him had managed to get a hold of these and why he was carrying them in the first place was a mystery, but those questions would get their answers later.

He placed them on his fingers and got into a fighting stance. In his condition, he wouldn’t be much assistance in the fight. His body still felt sickly, vision still hazy, and the chills only got worse by the second. The guy with the Hawaiian shirt just morphed into something. The only solid way he’d be able to help would be to look for weak spots against this new enemy, work out a strategy or find a way to escape. The sinister aura emanating from the monster reaffirmed one of his earlier thoughts. He wouldn’t last long like this.