God. Your head hurt; it felt like someone split it in half with an old rusty axeβ¦ your back ached, and your head was fuzzy. You couldnβt recall much, your brain was as good as a blank sheet of paper. Your eyes snapped open as you let out a low groan, looking around. Thisβ¦ This wasnβt your room. You couldn't even remember what your room looked like, but this certainly wasn't it. Where were you? The room was all shades of white and grey, there were no doors or windows, and only a couple of cots in the room. Your clothes were almost as blank as the room, a white long sleeve and baggy beige pants, the bottoms dragging across the floor as you walked.
Someone sat in the other corner of the white room. He looked to be a pale, disturbed-looking boy with a messy and tangled mop of brunette hair atop his head. He looked to have an old scar spanning from the left end of his mouth to his cheek, but it looked frequently reopened and considerably bloody. He wore the same as you, baggy beige pants and a white shirt, and had a bowl of oatmeal in his lap.
The boy looked up from the oatmeal and at you, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "Th-The hell'd you do to get into the shit-hole?" He asked, eyebrow raised.