The steady beep of machines fill the room, soft, low, high, aggressive. The steady and mostly regular rhythm makes the air hum with the alien yet familiar sound. The strong aggressive scent of antiseptics fill the air, that smell that reminds you of hospitals and of death. The too clean smell makes the air twinkle in the nostrils of everyone who smells it. The scent is too clean, too robotic, too inhuman.
Your feeling and awareness start to return, the scents and sounds attacking your senses in a sudden ambush that makes your head spin and ears ringing. The smell burns your nostrils, filling you with that unpleasant scent of freshness that is too fresh to be natural. Too fresh, a phrase that can only be used in places with the strictest rules when it comes to hygiene... hospital.
You realise that is where you are, your spinning head, ringing ears and foggy brain makes the world tilt sickeningly despite the fact you haven't moved. The strong atmosphere overwhelming your already overstimulated brain.
The noises and smells all feel as if they are there to insult you, mock you. They feel like they're slowly driving long sharp needles into your skull one at a time slowly, painfully with no regard for your pain.
You attempt to open your eyes. Your lids flutter and a piercing white light assaults your vision, the light is dimmer than the one from the tunnel but still bright enough to start a headache. The ache assaults the base of your skull, thick flutters of pain flushing from the bottom of your skull in an uneven and unpleasant rhythm. A rhythm that makes your blood pump, head ache and body pulse subtly. An artificial rhythm that makes the assault on your senses even worse.
You blink until the light isn't quite so bright, until the ache in your head has receded to a distant dull throb. Your senses slowly adapting to the sudden assault in a sluggish and uncomfortable way until all the sounds, smells and lights aren't quite so overwhelming. Aren't quite so aggressive and hostile.
Your breathing evens out into soft puffs rather than heaving gasps.
You look around curiously, the room is small with three or four different machines beeping steadily next to you, lines and pipes and tubes impale your body, connecting them to the too loud machinery. The walls are a harsh white, a white that in your opinion could cause snow blindness. The white walls are tall and the only gaps are the windows, all of which are slightly ajar, allowing a cool summers breeze to prance around your room in thick greedy paces, and the door. The door was averagely sized and a pale blue, such a pale blue that its basically just white with a transparent slightly blue overlay. Although, due to the harsh white of the walls, the slightly blue door stands out like a tiger in a children's inflatable pool.
The bed your lying in is the usual medical cot, metal with (surprise, surprise) white sheets and duvets and pillows. White, white, white. The colour(or shade if we're going to get into an argument) is present almost everywhere. The floor is one of the few exceptions, it's a mid scale grey, not to light, not to dark. A sanitary and standard grey that is often found in establishments such as these.
The colours are meant to paint an illusion of friendliness, cleanliness and safety however the colours themselves are what's causing your distress. The harshness of the colour of nothing is, ironically, making you feel pain despite having (mostly) adapted since awakening from your coma(?).
There's a soft, barely audible creek which your still sensitive ears pick up, the pale blue door slowly swings open with a careful arch. In walks a tall man with thick curly brown hair. He has a handsome, young face. Angular where girls find it attractive, a surprisingly chiseled jawline and soft stubble. A set of wire framed glasses adorn his face, circling his deep green eyes, the colour of the ocean. His sharp face cuts towards you, chin gliding through the air with the smoothness of an arching blade. His eyes lock onto you, expression softening slightly.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Kai," he says softly, his voice at a comfortable decibel level. Not too loud but loud enough to be heard over the blaring bleeps of the machines that impale your arms. "You've been out for around twelve hours. Do you remember anything that happened?" The Dr asks, chiseled jaw line jutting out slightly in concern, eyebrows furrowed slightly.
You attempt to speak, throat constricting as you attempt to lift and move your tongue. But no sound comes out. Your tongue is too dry and feels swolen. Moving it feels like trying to lift three hundred kilos with one hand after an intense two hour arm work out. It feels unbearably thick and unwieldy, like a slab of stone in your mouth. In the end you just nod.
The memories of the night flash through your mind. The start of the date, the ten seconds of sin that almost destroyed your relationship with Akane Himena, your pink haired goddess. Then after you apologized Akane forgave you and the two of you had a lovely evening that should have ended with both of you in one bed.
The alleyway is a little fuzzy though, a flash of steel as it's ripped from your torso as you turned. The hot splash of pain that had rippled through you in an intense pulsing wave. And finally black, darkness, a sea of your own blood, the coppery, salty taste filling your mouth. You shudder fearfully.
"Okay, that's good. A few officers may come to speak to you so you should rest up Karmen." The doctor informs lightly, hands resting on his hips.
His white lab coat has a few stains and flutters as he walks and under that coat... under that coat looks almost normal, simple clothes that are considered strangely civilian.
You nod again before sleep claims you. Pulling you once again into her dark and irresistible bosom to rest and recover.