Post by Sachi on Sept 14, 2024 20:30:03 GMT -6
The infirmary is eerily silent even compared to the rest of the building. With nothing else to occupy your mind, you become acutely aware of your own heartbeat and breathing as your brain does something, anything to bind you down to reality. Is it a coincidence that they became audible only as you entered a room so heavily associated with doctors and medicine? An unconscious attempt, perhaps, to remind you that you continue to live. An attempt to show that to someone, anyone. Your brain becomes sort of a biological stethoscope to your own insides.
This isn't helped by the strong smell of disinfectant floating through the room. In fact, it smells like it was applied very recently. There is something to be said about overcompensating, and contrasting the ruined infirmary with this forced attempt at cleanliness fills you with an uncanny dread. It's the kind of thing you'd smell at the scene of a murder.
To your left on entry, there are two beds topped with pristine white sheets. They seem to be calling to you.
The room is filled with cabinets containing all manner of medical supplies, from bandages to rubbing alcohol and even some simple painkillers. Unfortunately, the bulk of them seem to have long since passed their expiration date. You feel taking any would be very unwise.
The walls are covered in posters, some of which display common medical advice, while others have more... esoteric information. One in particular catches your eye; a guide on how to inflict the most pain possible without outright killing someone. Just skimming it sends a chill up your spine. The nurse's desk has a stack of papers which should be illuminated by a lamp, but there are no outlets to plug it into.
At the back of the room, there is an old-fashioned space heater next to a simple wooden chair. A white candle atop this heater provides the room with a gentle illumination. A sense of calm washes over you, growing in intensity the closer you get to it.
you got this
