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He is standing in line when the peculiar sensation of forgetting steals over him and leaves him blank. He has no memory of who he is, what he’s been doing, where he is, or where he’s going.
The first thing to come to his mind is, it always is a nasty shock when it happens . The thought comes and goes without much fanfare, and leaves him with questions. Who is he? What does he do? And, a split second later - he is Nathapon. He does everything and nothing, but mostly photography.
Second - he is in an airport. To be more precise, he is standing near the front of a line at an airport. The sign right overhead of him is a perky yellow that declares the area a ‘Non-citizen passenger VISA Check-In.’ The line he is standing in leads to a row of officials behind paned glass who work like machines, for the most part. One man seems particularly enthusiastic about his job, keeping whoever faces him for several minutes.
He could be a problem , Nathapon muses. Nathapon doesn’t have much of a story for himself right now, and he doesn’t need barred entry on top ot it. As he watches, the man flips through all the papers given to him through the window in the glass pane, asks more questions than most, and eventually raises a stamp, with enough flair to be spotted from ten and three quarters - give or take a few decimals - meters away.
Ten and three quarters. Where had that number come from, Nathapon wonders as he opens his files to see who he has to explain himself as.
Inside the manila folder, there is:
- a passport, for a man who looks like him, but is named Nithirot Suttirat
- a translucent file that holds H-1B Visa documents
- a printed e-mail correspondence, signed by the man in the passport, and London Day, hiring manager of a company named Motosono
So far, Nathapon has these facts. One, he is pretending to be Nithirot Suttirat. Two, his false identity has papers proving him to be a specialist in electrical engineering hired by a company. Three, there are forged correspondences between the CEO and “him,” but Motosono is a real and legitimate company, according to Gxxgle. He’s smuggling himself into the country, it seems.
"Next!" A voice calls. "Next please!"
Nathapon jerks his head up. Oops, he's at the front of the line, and he's kept the could-be-a-problem man waiting.
He starts to organize the papers in his hands, taking stock of his current profile. Nithirot is a mid-twenties Southeast Asian man wearing bland, neutral-colored business casual clothes, and dragging along a broken-in suitcase. Due to getting an H-1B Visa at a relatively young age, he should be intelligent with a mild social introversion to have boosted his study time in college. A bit of barely-there-but-trying EQ too, to play to engineer stereotypes. A firm but quiet voice with a moderate accent.
Nathapon is about to stuff everything back in their proper place when he remembers - Nithirot should have a vague backstory, at least. His grip on the folder “slips” and papers spill all over the ground.
“Sorry,” he mutters to people behind him in queue. “So sorry.”
Let’s see, he got his degree at an American college, but he only started learning English in his last year of high school. His company branch is in Wisconsin, and he will be staying at a motel for a couple days before he can move in to his contracted apartment. The company is small (Gxxgle search results came up with a few related sites before talking about tennis players), and he is excited for the opportunity to work overseas and keep the company growing to pad his resume.
" Next, please!" The man calls again.
Nathapon puts on the role of Nithirot Suttirat - by the way, what was his own last name? - and a flustered, awkward smile.
"Coming!" He calls out. His voice is just loud enough to make the passengers behind him flinch back from the volume. Nithirot winces, opens his mouth as if to apologize, then hurries towards the cubicle.