"— Why me?"

Roy bolts awake in a hospital bed. Drenched in sweat, chilled to the bone; the room he's in looks like nothing familiar to all the places leading to it. A ghastly green hue ravages the whole room. Grime, while at a minimum, could be seen faintly at each of the corners in this cluttered room. The overhead lights faulty and dim. The bedding being the bare minimum of what a hospital bed could be considered. The room obviously doubles as a storage space for medical side stands and their associating supplies— tripled, even, for x-ray pictures of patients long gone.

Roy's eyes continue to wonder around the room. Nothing one would expect around an in-use hospital bed is present around him. No monitors. No I.V.s. No electronics. He is the only person in the room, surrounded by junk.

Looking at the entrance to his room, it is fully open as sounds of others erupt on through. None of these people are visible, yet they are as boisterous as if they were at the door's precipice. Voices on top of voices creating a fog of white noise for most of their conversations. Although, for the few words that did manage to cut through the fog, they provide their own morally ambiguous worries for Roy. Something he could expect; what leads a clientele to a less-than-official type of business—like this—could lead a mind astray.

They can't be struggling for cash if they're this busy. The thought passes as sudden as a muscle twitches. Intrusive as it may have been, the disparity between sound and sight paints quite a nasty image. One the owner, or the head doctor, wouldn't be quite fond about. Nonetheless, the facility has seen better days. Far better days.

His mind wonders.

Lonesome in his stay, the isolation crushing as it may in a city he once called home. It's a feeling he's come to know quite well— if but voluntarily. A thing taught to calm one's mind; meditation seems to be one of minimal few techniques that could never stick as his uncle intended. His familiarity of hospital rooms weren't helping either. They brought back memories. Memories, more than the ones that invade his dreams. A self-imposed loneliness mixing with a fear of his own mind; what a recipe for the most entertaining of disasters.

Bickering. Laughing. Groaning. All were periodically interrupted by buzzing sounds from a further off location within. This underground facility seemingly had many more clients than staff. Not uncommon for medically-geared places of employment. Yet, this seemed a bit too lopsided towards one direction. Matter of fact, he had yet to hear—much less see—an inkling of any staff since he woke up.

The buzzing stops.

Abrupt like an aneurysm; the sound stops mid-pattern. Whatever it was tearing—or cutting—left halfway complete—or ripped away. Its silence brought down this unsaid word upon the rest of the squabble that complimented the buzzing madness.

All rooms grew quiet. Hallowed whispers accompany the new growth of sound heightening ever closer to Roy's room. This would've been any mundane noise one wouldn't normally think twice about, but this unknown source of such a noise garners too much concern to write it off. Each pulse of this new sound is trailed by those whispers of reverence and fear. It is intoxicating.

Fear ingrains within the increasing decimal of the noise. Soft, yet profoundly distinct. Roy would get his wish. He will not be alone. Those footsteps are coming closer.

*Tap. Tap. Tap.*

The shoes shout out a tap of confidence with every collision onto the cheap tile floor. They sound fancy. However, the taps didn't sound like any sole a flat foot dress shoe would produce. Wait, aren't those?

Just as the question flows into his mind, the individual appears at the precipice of his room.

"Hmm~ you. You're finally awake."

There stood a woman with a fingernail on her lips. Roy didn't know how to react. He's stunned. Not from what one would think, but something quite more self-inflicting. Her visage didn't match the grotesque imagery he had conjured up. This wasn't what he pictured the head doctor to be— and, yet, the disparity had only intensified.

The visage as professional as an official practicing physician should look. The doctor's coat reaching closer to the knees than her upper thighs, a stethoscope slinging around the neck, and a name tag proudly sutured into said coat. Nevertheless, the attire underneath was anything but as professional. Heels, skirt, and blouse below barely matched the coat covering them, and, yet, that wasn't what sent flares down Roy's spine.

Her eyes simply smiling. As if a lioness to an incapacitated zebra, the calm before the storm being but a travesty to her prey's hopes and prayers. The victim's—the prey's—last lucid thoughts spray-painting its face. And, Roy is no different.

His thoughts paint a visage of a disgusting fire. A rage unable to be extinguished by mere words. That, and many other transgressions, shine grimly towards the head doctor.

Mere minutes had ticked on by. "Oh," breaking the silence, "so that's the kind of man you seem to be." Her words more on the err of concluding a diagnosis than any type of antagonistic approach. The clinical air between her steps give way to a cleaner, warmer heel tap the closer she gets to Roy's bed.

"Eh. Huh?" The grimace leaving his face; nothing is flowing into the next with the head doctor. This disconnect breaking any sense of back-foot Roy knows how to take. Her words making even less sense than that. Not much has happened, and, yet, he's already lost as to where she will be going onto next. That is all before she begins any doctor's typical barrage of questions.

The head doctor sits on the edge of Roy's hospital bed. Nonchalant as if routine, a hand whips out a notepad from her coat as the other pulls out some glasses from the coat's chest-pocket. "If I recall correctly," noting between the flipping of tiny pages, "you had broken bones, fractures, and a bit of internal bleeding."

Sliding the glasses down, "Am I right?" Baffled, if not slightly flustered, her eyes still appear the same to Roy. Even as professional as she is, they still seem to be smiling.

"Uh.. mhm," the words struggling to slip out of his throat, "h—how would I know? You're the doc."

"Well," the doctor whimsically corrects, "it is your body we're talking about. Only you can tell me how you feel. Am I right?"

While the wounding of his pride does affect him, she is right. He hadn't realized until it had been spelled out to him. He hasn't felt any pain since he's been awake. The confusion and fear were all he had been focused on. At a loss, all Roy can think is, 'but, how'.

What happened to my injur—

The thought interrupted. "Hmm, just now noticing?" The doctor cutting off Roy mid-thought, "You were pretty hurt when one of my nurses found you by our door this morning. Maybe more was injured than just that body of yours though."

"Hey! What did you s—"

Passively waving her free hand at Roy, "Hush hush. I'm just pulling your leg. You seem fine enough to go.."

Disgruntled as a pride-wounded Roy might be, the miracle erasure of all his injuries is too much not to be deeply thankful about. While that may be true, the amount of stuff unexplained takes the forefront of his mind. The questions of this place keep piling up in his cluttered mind. They're overloading the limited space between his teeth and tongue. He cannot possibly leave without satiating some type of lust for knowledge this place seems to hide within.

Having stopped midway through getting off this dingy bed, Roy sits silently. Processing his next step; his first, & maybe only, question he'll be able to get out. As he turns his head to speak, the doctor asks hers, "What were your nightmares about?"

Stunned, all Roy could mutter is, "What..?"

His mind becoming more and more fuzzy with every word striking out of her mouth. "My staff and I could hear your grunting and see the agony written on your face as we wheeled you in here. It must've been a pretty bad 'dream' you were having."

"Y—yeah, bad dream." Whether he could recall much of it or not, it matters little. Anxiousness rises to the tips of his clean fingertips. A way out is all Roy could focus on now; the fear returning once again, "Can't remember much of it now. Can I—"

"No," the doctor bluntly retorts. "Your damages weren't cheap to fix. Those took a special something. And, you certainly don't look like you can pay it all right now."

The curvature of her eyelids bend as their metaphorical smile grows to a considerable grin. She looks Roy dead in his eyes, "So, you either let me have my fun digging into your mind or you make up the difference before you leave here today. What a fun decision to make, isn't it?"