You were somewhere cold, a luminescent lightbulb flickered in methodic rhythm. A man in a gas mask stared through a slit in the metal door, his eyes visible through the transparent vinyl covering the lenses.

“Hmmm…” His voice seemed deep, but not scarily so. You looked down only to see the only clothing on your body was black cargo pants laced with a leather belt. Unlike normal belts, it had not metal buckle attachments. There was a large somewhat infected laceration on your left arm, and a freshly healed one across your chest. It didn’t hurt, but it looked nasty. You assumed you looked a mess, but you didn’t feel panicked. For some reason, there was this underlying disconnect.

After all, you were immortal.