Nothingman

He started by confusing the streets. After that it was the turn of names. Then faces, words, and finally feelings. Now he no longer even remembers how to react when something good, or bad, happens. Instinct drives him to feed and survive, but that's just the wrapping. What used to be the soul has dried up, stuck to bone and flesh. Now he is like a big drum, continuously beaten by life, emitting a dull rumble. Living is the aged echo of things forgotten. He is your conscience.