Clown Game

The ceiling steadily receded backward, with a light bulb entering the field of vision every few seconds, emitting a dim yellow light before disappearing from view at the other end.

He shook his body, confirming once more that his hands, feet, and even his head were securely tied to the stretcher, unable to move at all. He wanted to speak, but everything below his eyes was tightly clamped by a mask of unknown material, his chin unable to open even a fraction, with only small holes for breathing.

He lifted his eyes slightly, and on the edge of his vision, he could see a person's nostrils, filled with thick nasal hair... and a chin covered with stubble, probably over 40 years old.

His clothing was white, but due to the angle of view, he couldn't make out the style.

A man! Beyond that, he seemed unable to draw any other conclusion.

Afterward, he turned his eyes as far to the side as possible, barely making out the walls that met the ceiling, about two meters away from himself, their surface beginning to peel, revealing the moldy wall underneath. Several exposed pipes dripped water with a tick-tock sound.

This was a corridor, but his limited field of vision did not reveal whether there were windows, rooms, or doors along the sides.

Since waking up, about 5 minutes had probably passed, yet he still hadn't reached the end of this corridor, not even a single turn. Although not completely certain, he must be in a large, somewhat antiquated building.

He sniffed the air around him next, not exactly fresh, but without any odd smells, suggesting someone cleaned here.

Should he try humming loudly to see if the man would look down, so he could see his face... But immediately after, he dismissed the idea.

It was better not to do anything until he understood what had happened.

...

...

The person lying on the stretcher was somewhat strange.

First! He completely didn't remember why he was here, only that upon opening his eyes, he found himself tied to this movable stretcher.

Most people would probably scream in fear upon waking to find themselves bound in a completely unfamiliar environment, being pushed by someone, but this person was very quiet, observing his surroundings habitually.

Second! He didn't know who he was, not even a bit. He was clueless about his appearance, age, nationality; he had no memories from childhood, and if he didn't look in a mirror or touch his chest now, he wouldn't even know his own gender. Just moments ago, he tried saying a few words in his mind to determine his nationality, but then he was surprised to find that he could speak many languages, unable to distinguish which one was his mother tongue.

...

"Clang!" A very faint sound came from the direction of his feet.

The stretcher seemed to have hit something, followed by a "creeeeak," the sound of a door being pushed open.

Indeed, a door frame appeared in his line of sight, with a sign on it, but he couldn't make out the words written.

The stretcher turned a corner and continued moving, stopping about two minutes later. The back of the person pushing the stretcher came into his line of vision, wearing a white lab coat with corners that had turned yellow, indicating it had not been washed for quite some time.

"Doctor?" he wondered, "Doesn't seem like it; a doctor wouldn't be this unkempt. Even if they didn't wash their work clothes, at least they would shave their nose hair."

"Creeeeak"

Another door was pushed open, and a male voice rang out, clearly from the person pushing the stretcher. He said, "Mrs. Liu, he's arrived!"

He spoke in Mandarin! There was respect in his tone...

"In Mandarin, it's impossible to know the gender," he felt a slight regret.

Afterward, a female voice came through.

"Bring him in."

...

No sooner had the words fallen than the stretcher started moving forward, apparently being pulled from the direction of his feet.

A door's overhead lintel appeared in his view, and then the ceiling of the room inside, made of wood, indicating the room's décor was considerably nicer than the hallway's.

"Stand the bed up!" came the female voice again, followed by the sound of paper rubbing against each other.

Then, the wheels under the stretcher emitted a creaking noise.

His line of sight shifted...

This was a rather nice-looking, single-occupancy office, not too big, with a few wooden bookcases along the walls, filled with books. There was a desk in front of him and behind it sat a woman with her hair in a bun, her head down, her face unclear, but through the lab coat, her figure seemed quite nice. She was busy with a stack of papers in front of her.

"Take off his face mask," she said without looking up.

Only then did the man pushing the cart's face enter his field of vision properly. His hair was messy, carrying an odd smell, his cheeks flushed, likely from frequent drinking; the collar of his white coat was filthy. If there was anything particular about him, it was that he was a bit more robust than the average person. If this place was a hospital, why would they employ such a disheveled medical worker?

...

Mental hospital!

Almost the next second, he came to the conclusion that was precisely what explained the absence of a disinfectant scent upon arrival. After all, a psychiatric hospital wouldn't have a high volume of traffic, nor a varied assortment of medications.

"It looks like I must be a psychiatric patient!" he thought immediately afterward.