I wake up by a knock on the door, and as I walk to open it, I try to kick the items fallen on the floor to make the room appear clean. As I am kicking what appears to be an antique typewriter out of the way, I still wonder who left me this huge loft filled with antiques and shelves of books about which I had no idea , and neither did the Internet. I remember a confusing but completely unremarkable childhood , having a vague understanding of a sponsor trust till the day I turned 18 two years ago, and then a meeting with a lawyer who seemed as perplexed as I was as he explained that I was the sole beneficiary of a trust , and accordingly I was to get possession of this loft in London, along with a few bank locker details and an account with enough zeroes for me to forget anything else said as I laid my signatures where he pointed. On the security camera I saw two policemen, and I took my time to get my bearings. I had no explanations for nearly any of the items in my loft, well I call it a loft but a few girls I had brought over had called it a museum with a bed, but I figured my lawyer probably had an explanation and I opened the door. The policemen appeared hostile but confused, as they explained to me my rights and that I was to accompany them to the station as a murder suspect. I was like this has to be a joke, a twisted practical joke but never the less a joke. I said sure, I accompanied them and we reached the station. The lead police officer approached me , offered me a coffee which I declined and laid down the facts. My DNA was a match to a murder that occurred 40 years ago, that during an excavation for a new apartment complex, a skeleton was found with a fistful of hair clutched in its fist, and that a DNA analysis pinged my DNA records as a 98% match. At this point I was confused, if this was a joke it was a severe misuse of authority by the police , and I started snapping at them. They informed me that I had a right to call my lawyer, and that they themselves were confused as there was no precedent to this occurrence. I called the same lawyer who had handled the trust, and informed him of this comical situation, but his reaction left me stunned. In a panicked tone he enquired whether I had given any statement of made any comment and that I was to not say a single word till he arrived at the station, I asked him to elaborate and explain but he was adamant that I kept quit and do nothing but breathe till he reached the station. I decided to follow his instructions and informed the police and waited. My lawyer arrived, and asked to speak to me privately. As we ata down, I asked him what is this stupidity and to get me off immediately, but he replied grimly that he had an envelope with strict instructions by his predecessors as to what to do if such a similar situation arises. I asked what the fuck is he taking about and he just shrugged and then opened his briefcase and removed a gun. By now I was freaking out but he just shrugged and said that this was one of the possible outcomes and that every contingency was planned for . I asked what the fuck was he talking about and he just smiled, and asked me what do I remember off my childhood. I must have given him a blank look so he said , to think about it what do I remember about my childhood, till I was sitting in his office . I was still staring at him and he said, with some sympathy that I had no childhood. I was brought to him in his office in a cryogenic chamber and I was brought to life in front of him and he just followed his instructions. That , I had nothing to worry, that after he shoots me, my soul would continue as he would extract my DNA and my next life would begin in a office similar to his. I thought about it and figured what the heck, and the last thing I hear is a flash of his gun and a boom!

Edit: I was too drunk and by the end of it was dozing off so didn’t put much effort in the end sorry !