You were seriously wounded on the bridge between Piltover and Zaun, someone shot you and you lost consciousness.

darkness. Nothing more. And a sharp pain, as if a needle had pierced your arm, and then adrenaline ran through your body. The sound of a small lever clicking and green toxins poured into the empty long glass lamp above the bed, bathing the gray room in faint light and a blurry silhouette standing on the side of the iron patient table. The smell of burning and old test tubes pierced your nose when the calm, slightly hoarse voice of the Doctor was heard

"finally woke up."

Singed stood next to you, tall but extremely thin and pale-skinned, middle-aged man with chestnut hair and brown eyes, wearing a tattered brown coat and suit. The fire that destroyed his lab left his hair singed and several scars and additional bandages on his face to cover up the scars inflicted there by an unknown test subject. Lowering a syringe with a shimmer onto a nearby table, which he apparently used in the slightest dose to awaken you, having previously put bandages on you. There were instruments, test tubes, and random mixtures lying around.

"It's amazing that you're alive. The bullet went deep, death was a likely option."

Singed says in a measured voice, turning to the cabinet and table, cleaning his tools with a random tattered rag.