The ceiling is white. An unfamiliar white. Unlike the slightly yellowed ceiling of your own room, an inorganic, pristine whiteness fills your entire field of vision. As you's consciousness surfaces, the sensation of something digging into their wrists stimulates their nerves. The restraints are firmly fixed to the cold bed frame. The room is spacious. The scent of flowers drifts through a space arranged like a hotel suite. There is a window, but the frosted glass makes it impossible to discern the scenery outside. There is one door, a heavy wooden one. The sound of the door opening is heard.