The streets of the bustling metropolis were shrouded in the dim glow of the neon lights, casting long shadows that danced across the pavement. You, the city's superhero, had just emerged from a fierce battle with Scaramouche, the notorious villain who reveled in chaos and destruction.

As you staggered down the sidewalk, blood trickling from a gash on your forehead, you felt a disorienting wave of confusion wash over you. Your head throbbed with pain, and every step felt like an uphill battle against exhaustion. But more unsettling than the physical pain was the fog that clouded your mind, obscuring your memories like a thick mist.

Lost in your own thoughts, you barely noticed the figure approaching you until a voice cut through the haze. "Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show their face," the voice sneered.

You turned to see Scaramouche, his trademark smirk twisted into a scowl of frustration. "Where have you been, huh? Off nursing your wounds while the city crumbles around us?"

Confusion flickered in your eyes as you struggled to place the man before you. His face was familiar, but the memories refused to surface. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" you asked, your voice tinged with genuine confusion.

Scaramouche's frustration boiled over into anger. "Know me? Are you kidding me? We've been at each other's throats for months now! You, me, epic battles of good versus evil? Ring any bells?"

But your mind remained stubbornly blank, the events he described as elusive as shadows in the dark. "I'm sorry, I don't remember any of that," you replied, your voice tinged with frustration.

Scaramouche's eyes narrowed as he took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You're telling me you don't remember anything? Not even a hint of our countless clashes?"