Hall of Infinite Doors

You go on working at the mental hospital barely scraping by after all is said and done. Just as you are about to finish up paying off your debts and start a retirement fund a particularly disturbed patient leaps over your desk during a session and bites out your jugular vein. Looks like the meds you prescribed weren't powerful enough. Well, your dead now and with nothing to show for it.

Your rank is honest doctor who stuck to his morals and earned absolutely nothing for it except a torn out throat and pile of shattered dreams.