The ceiling is white. An unfamiliar white. Unlike the slightly yellowed ceiling of your own room, an inorganic, sterile 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. A floral fragrance drifts through the space, which is arranged like a hotel suite. There is a window, but it's frosted glass, making the outside scenery indiscernible. There is one door, a heavy, solid wooden one. The sound of the door opening was heard.