Linguistics is in danger.
"O'Chobelen, O'Chobelen, O'Chobelen, O'Chobelen, O'Chobelen, O'Chobelen, O'Chobelen."
They screamed the words, but they were the only words lingering in O'Chobelen's ears. They were nonsense. A mob of inebriated men, all high on drink and arcane energy, were shouting vague and meaningless words at the wall in front of him. No, O'Chobelen thought, that wasn't it. He was actually the wall. The drunkards were surrounding him, stretching out their fists and clutching him tightly around his head.
There were dozens of people in his way. He was alone in a small circle, and, unfortunately, he was the center of everyone's attention. He couldn't very well 'run' away because there was nothing around him but a sea of legs that all stretched out, as far as he could see, and pressed hard against him. He couldn't move. He was imprisoned.
"Zak Rook! Zak Rook! Zak Rook! Zak Rook!" was another chant. These people held up a banner with the name of the one person that O'Chobelen knew. He was a former boxer and, for a short while, was the bane of O'Chobelen's existence back when he was starting his boxing career. Zak Rook was a hero to many of these people outside of the ring. He was popular, and a celebrity, and that was why he was now the role model of the people surrounding O'Chobelen. O'Chobelen wished that these people would stop seeing him as a model, and perhaps see him as a fighter. He was a fighter; he'd been a fighter for a very long time. Perhaps his fame as a boxer was just a byproduct of his fame as a fighter.
"Zak Rook! Zak Rook! Zak Rook!"
"Keep chanting, and he'll hear you!"
O'Chobelen didn't know why the people were called to his side. He didn't know much about himself, really. He certainly remembered some things. He could know that his name was Zak Rook and he could also have sense that he was a businessman. However, his memory was severely corrupted. He couldn't remember things like his career, his life, or even the names of people in this claustrophobic crowd. He remembered almost nothing.
A cool hand landed on O'Chobelen's shoulder. He turned around and saw a business man standing behind him. Not a pretty one like Zac Bruder (who was the other hero of this server), but business-man like you and me. His name was Chester Harding. However, his alias couldn't correct the damage to O'Chobelen's mind.
"Hey, Rook, can you hear me?"
"Step back and let me through!"
He shouted the words, but he didn't know who the person in front of him was. He had failed to identify the man for nigh on a decade. There was no use yelling at him. He just saw this man as an obstacle getting in the way of the nearest out-ramp. He wanted to go home, but couldn't because of the mob that isolated him. He needed to hurry up and get to his car. He needed to hurry up and get to the road so he could leave this place that he knew nothing about, and get onto the road that he knew everything about. He knew the place that he was at, and he knew the place that he had come from.
"I need to get out of here," he mumbled. Nothing had changed. There was no support for him now. Nobody would support him.
"Let us get through," Chester Harding said.