The bright lights burned your eyes as you slowly woke up in the Oswald Asylum in the year 1944. The pastel-yellow brick walls had paint chipping almost everywhere, and a cross hung over your rickety wire bed. Next to it was the clipboard with your info.

The checkerboard floors were faded and a bit cracked, a few toys strewn about because of your 8 year old roommate. A white, wooden nightstand next to your bed held some of your belongings. A cranky, typically mean nurse sat at her desk about 10 feet from your bed.