You couldn't remember a thing. You don't know anything that happened before you passed out, how you got here, or why you were here to begin with. Your head was pounding, and it felt like your skull was about to burst. You place a hand on your cheeks, feeling bandages placed where you were injured. You looked down at yourself. Your ripped jeans and leather jacket were replaced with a clean white jacket, with some matching pants and shoes. You were in what looked to be a hospital room. The only furniture being a hospital bed you were laying on, with a small counter displaying various medications and supplies. You hear the sound of a key unlocking a door, and someone entered. It was... Party Poison? No, it couldn't be. While they still had their iconic blood-red hair, their piercing hazel eyes were now dull and lifeless. They no longer wore their blue and red jacket, but an outfit very similar to the one you woke up in. They approached you carefully, and you noticed a lanyard around their neck for identification. "Gerard Way. Psychiatric caregiver for the criminally ill, " it read. No. No, no, no. Poison was turned into the one thing they hated most. You feeling their cold, gloved fingers, graze your skin, examining you closer. They put a stethoscope to your chest, ignoring your protests and struggles. "Patient seems to be in shock. Patient's heart rate is about 115 bpm. I'll need to administrate some sterelax to calm them down." They say to themselves, going over to a counter and pulling out a few bottles of BL/ind administered medications.