>It's...
>Warm
>Warmer
>No, hotter
>Hot, hot, hot
>It's fucking burning
>But why does it feel cold too?
>And what's that sound?
>It sounds like...screaming?
>Who's screaming?
>Sounds like...your voice?
>Yeah, you are screaming
>Probably cause it hurts
>It all hurts
>Hurts and burns and freezes and stabs
>You're trying to open your eyes but it's so bright...
>You can almost hear someone else's voice right before God finally lets you fade into darkness

-=-=-=-=-

>It's...
>Warm
>Just warm, this time
>Soft too
>Feels like you're in bed
>Feels like you're at an angle too
>Something stuck on the inside of your left elbow
>And a sort of...pressure, all over your right arm
>You hear voices
>Sounds like they're coming from another room
>You hear beeping too
>It's steady and rhythmic, kinda like a...
>Heart monitor?
>You try to open your eyes, but are blinded by the light
>After some more attempts, your sight adjusts enough to let you take in your surroundings
>Looks like you're some sort of hospital
>Sterile, white walls, but the white seems...stronger, than other hospitals
>As your eyes survey the hospital room, your left hand moves to absentmindedly scratch your arm, but your fingers meet stiff plastic
>Looking down you see that it's in a cast, forcing your right arm into a 90 degree angle
>Panning over to your left arm, you see an IV inserted there
>Before you have a chance to question your surroundings, your head darts to the sound of the doorknob turning and the door opening
>In the entrance stands a lithe, short woman in scrubs and a nurse's cap atop a mop of...blue hair?
>And yellow skin?!
>She's too focused on the clipboard in her hands to notice your staring
>"Let's see, room 206..." She trails off as she looks up and meets your stare with one of her own
>Her eyes seem...too big
>Oddly enough, that's wierding you out more than her color scheme
>She opens her mouth to try and speak but no words come out
>Mouth agape, she slowly steps back out the door and lets it close once more
>You're stuck staring at the door, alone once more
>After maybe twenty minutes or so, there's a knock on the door
"Co-" you're inturrupted as the dryness of your throat sends you into a coughing fit
>You manage a strained "come in" before the door opens once again
>There stands a bespectacled man in a labcoat, with brown hair and what looks like a cheap fake tan
>He gives a tightlipped smile upon seeing you
>"Looks like you're awake!" He observes, eliciting a nod from you
>He steps in fully, and as the door shuts, you notice a crowd of multicolored people watching the doctor through the closing gap
>The doctor rolls over a stool and sits to your right
>"My name is Doctor Stables. Do you think you could tell me yours?" He asks hopefully
>Your name?

>You clear your throat before speaking "My name's-"
>You're cut short by a shooting pain from within your head
>Grabbing your head out of instinct, you feel that it's wrapped in bandages
>The doctor sighs and shakes his head
>"I was afraid of that..."
"Af-fraid of what?" You rub your head, only now noticing the feeling of the bandages on your bare scalp
>Doctor Stables deftly removed his glasses and cleaned them with a cloth from his pocket
>Replacing them on the bridge of his nose, he inhaled deeply before speaking cautiously
>"Son, do you remember what happened to you? Why you're here?"
>Why you're here?
>Why ARE you here?
>The doctor nodded understandingly
>Reaching behind him, he grabbed a manilla folder off the table
>"You were found immensely wounded. Broken arm, various burns and lacerations all across your body, and severe head trauma."
>He pulls something from the folder and hands it to you
>It's a photograph
>Wrapped in bloody bandages, face swollen and bruised, you almost can't recognize yourself
>Flipping it over, you see some notes written on the back
>Things such as the date, context for the image, and a signature
>"We did our best to patch you up, but to be completely frank with you, you're lucky to be alive."
>"Your body kept rejecting whatever blood we tried to give you."
>"So all we could do was sew you up, give you something for the pain, and hope for you to survive long enough that we could deal with your more serious issues."
>"Once you mostly healed, we could go in and fix that arm of yours." Doctor Stables gestured to your immobilized limb
>Countless questions swirled around your mind, but only one made it's way to your lips
"Where am I?"
>He sat up a bit straighter
>As he opened his mouth to answer, the door was flung open by a white skinned nurse with pink hair, panting as if she just ran acoss the building
>"Doctor Stables, there you are! We need you in the OR!" She commanded
>The doctor gave a brief goodbye before rushing to follow the nurse, leaving you alone once again
>You stare down at the picture still in your hand
>How long have you been here?
>Trying to remember how you got here, you only recall the physical sensations of your injuries
>Your eyes wander down your arm and up the IV line to the plastic bag filled with some clear liquid
>Looking closer, you see that it's just saline
>You glance towards the door again
>You need answers

>You groan from the effort it takes to move your painfully stiff legs
>There's a dull ache in your calves
>A brief glance at where they once lay reveals a folded-up blanket draped over the cot's footboard
>Why would they put you in such a small bed?
>You shake the question out of your head
>Have to focus
>A tight fist gripping the IV stand, you shakily try to drag yourself to your feet
>Before you can put even an ounce more of weight onto your legs, you crumple to the floor
>Luckily, your cast broke your fall
>And knocked the wind out of you
>After spending God knows how long catching your breath, you laboriously climb up and sit on the edge of the hospital bed once more
>Looking around the room, your eyes land on the folder that Dr. Stables had
>You can see some papers spilling out from it from the doctor's hasty exit
>Your intent gaze darts to the stool he had sat on, to the door, then to the folder once more
>Keeping one eye on the door, you set out moving yourself to the stool and over to the table
>Sifting through the file's contents, your fatigued mind is bombarded with sheets of numbers and graphs
>More photos, these showing every part and angle of your body
>Tattered
>Broken
>Filthy
>Not an inch of skin that isn't stained red with blood
>You shouldn't have lived
>The back of the photographs doesn't give much more information than the first
>You continue through the folder's contents
>X-rays
>Some of your arms, legs, torso
>None of your skull, you notice
>Eventually you find some more useful papers
>Nurse's reports-copies, at least-detailing your condition daily make up the bulk of the file
>[ROOM: 206]
>[NAME: ANONYMOUS]
>[DATE: 5/14/1998]
>...
>[DATE: 5/14/1998]
>You reread it a third time
>Then a fourth time
>Fifth, sixth, seventh-
>You tear through the rest of the reports, checking the date on each and catching glimpses of notes as your heart paces faster and faster
>[DATE: 5/17/1998]
>[Vitals improving]
>[DATE: 5/26/1998]
>[Recovery slow]
>[DATE: 6/13/1998]
>[Condition stable]
>You reach the most recent report, your eyes nearly burning a hole in the paper as you stare at the black ink
>[DATE: 7/13/1998]
>You're panting as if you just ran a marathon, your pulse pounds in your ears like a war drum
>This isn't possible
>You must be dreaming
>Or in a coma
>Maybe you're in h-
"AAAIIIEEE!"
>You jump off the stool at the sudden touch and scramble on the floor to face a stunned nurse.
>This one had pink skin with purple and white hair
>You never heard her come in
>"Are you alright, dearie? I was callin' your name, but I reckon ya didn't hear me."
>You ignore her question and take a shaky breath
"Wh...Where am I?" You plead
>"Why, you're in Canterlot General, dearie," The nurse smiles warmly, offering a hand