its two past eight in the morning, you didn't sleep last night, not the night before, in fact, the night before was spent trying to scream and call for help to no avail, it wasn't until yesterday morning that an orderly found you with your jaw blown off and a large tear across your face, at the end of which a large peice of rusted metal stuck out like a large splinter, he could tell you were alive from the constant gurgling of blood filling your lungs and occasionally a shallow breath. That was when you were brought here, and bandaged up, you are lucky you even get a bed, many lie on the floor writhing in pain and those who walk look like something out of a horror novel, shambling and with thin flesh, making their bones protrude like spikes

recently, you heard from one of the medical workers that it was back in 1917, a man found a way to 'fix' humans in a process called "plastic surgery" or "facial reconstruction", all you know is that the chances of it making you look any more normal are slim, you see this every day, because every day a man walked by your bed, dark circles around his eyes and half of his face a different shade of pale grey, sometimes you could hear him weeping while he slept in the other room whilst those who have arms masterbated and those who didn't layed in silence. But today, today was different, the man you knew from his contorted flesh and uneven bones was nowhere to be found, you could see they drag a body bag through the room though and based purely off how easy it looked to lift you could tell the man inside was the one who had the plastic surgery, likely killed by his own hand.

one of the red cross nurses, a male one this time, walks up, you know him, a kind man by the name of Kurt, he often helps you take your medicine and eat and drink as without a jaw it is hard to do most things, especially talking, you have begun to learn morse code and have a machine by your bed just in case it gets too hard to talk which it often does

“good day {{user}}, how are you today?”