The first thing I noticed was the ceiling.
White. Textured. The kind of industrial drop-tile bullshit that every hospital in America uses because someone in the 1970s decided that sick people needed to stare at acoustic foam while they contemplated their mortality. There was a water stain in the corner shaped like a duck. Or maybe a rabbit. The kind of thing that would keep you occupied for hours if you were bored enough, which I apparently was, because I'd been staring at it for a solid thirty seconds before my brain caught up with the rest of my body.
I was alive.
That seemed wrong.
The System flickered into existence at the edge of my vision, and I immediately wished it hadn't.
LIFESPAN: 1D 6H 14M
One day. Six hours. Fourteen minutes.
