I'm in a hospital. It's quite drab inside. So depressing. Blood, wounds, death. I want to curl up into a ball and whimper, but I'm too drowsy to move. I'm locked down, anyways. I try to scream, but cloth fills my mouth.
A nurse sits on a small stood near my bed. Don't come near. Please, go away. She just stares as if she's inspecting a product.
Her mouth moves. She speaks. Everything sinks at once. Am I deaf? Is that it? I don't hear anything. Something's in my ears. Cotton? The nurse plucked whatever it was out.
"I'm sorry. I had to keep you like that for a bit. Your expression was too despair-filled."
Do I know her? I hope not.
"Should I tear off your mask so that the other patients rip you to shreds? Or should I give them all books so you can lead them to hell?"
She winces.
"I wanted to have some fun with this ward, but unfortunately, she called. I saw her message. Junko's."
She twitches and starts to shake. What is she doing? She suddenly calms down.
"She wants us. So I'll leave this hospital to you, Mizoru. You'll spread our despair. After all, you're one of us."
She stands up and takes her leave. I pray that she'll never come back.
Huh?
I can move. My legs aren't chained down anymore. I pull myself up and stand on my two legs. I almost fall over but grab onto the side of my bed just in time. I have prosthetics. My legs are but stumps. Did I lose them in an accident or was I born that way? I don't know. I quickly jump back onto my bed, as I am not stable walking around. I probably just got these. I am not used to these at all.
I sit a bit, regaining my energy. It's so quiet in here. No one talking at all. A different nurse occasionally shuffles around the room, not making eye-contact. There's stapled pieces of paper attached to a clipboard on the end of my bed. I pick it up and begin to read it.
Evidently, I got injured by an explosion and sustained large amounts of injuries to my legs and torso. The medical staff had to do something to my head because it was beat up so badly. It doesn't state what they did. They put on plastic and metal prosthetics. I've been out for a long time.
I noticed a stack of papers attached to the end of my bed. It was a report about my injuries. 'Taeki Mizoru'? There's a picture. He's really skinny and has long, coarse black hair. He looks like he's depressed or something. Why is this on my bed?
Wait second. Is that me? No. It couldn't be. I don't remember. I don't even remember my name. Not even my family. Do I have amnesia?
I guess, in a heartwarming sense, that Taeki Mizoru is my name.
These papers describe my injury as an explosion, probably from a grenade. They also describe various cut scars across my skin, especially my wrist. I check my wrist. I do have the scars. Did I used to cut myself? What kind of life did I have? I put the photo in my gown.
That nurse said that if I take off these bandages that the patients will kill me. I can't really imagine that, seeing how all of them are always asleep, but I really shouldn't question something like that.
Well, I shouldn't dwell on it. I should try to get out of here. I sigh. I could ask a nurse or try to wake someone up.
Oh yeah. I can't talk.
I rip off the lower half of the bandages covering my face. I spit out a cloth dyed pink with my own blood onto the floor.
Gross.
