Hall of Infinite Doors
You're led down a clean series of hallways to a pair of big, old elevators. The hallways are bland, with white tile floors and pale shiny walls a similar shade; everything is laid out in angles, and you found it difficult to keep track of where you were going. The elevator panel shows thirteen floors; the orderly presses button 12; the doors close, the machine ascends.
The twelfth floor is carpeted, more comfortable, and it is a short and simple walk to what is apparently your destination: a wide wood-paneled room with several heavy cabinets lining the walls, a pair of chairs and couch in the center, and huge bright windows dominating the outside wall, showing the clustered mid-point panoply of the city around you. The woman directs you to take a seat and waves the man outside; you hear the door lock as he closes it, and when you sit down, so does she.
"They call me Dr. Callo," she tells you, "and I'm going to be doing your assessment today." She picks up a clipboard and pen from a nearby table and holds it easily on one knee. "I'm just going to ask you a few questions here, get to know you better. I was told that you were found stumbling around and disoriented on Beach Street. Do you remember that?" You shake your head, no. "Hm, that's odd. What's the last thing that you remember?" You remember being brought into the hospital, you tell her, but nothing before that. She scribbles a few sentences on her clipboard and nods.
"It seems you've suffered a great shock or injury. Amnesia is usually a coping mechanism, albeit an extreme one, that the mind falls back on when it learns something it cannot cope with; at the same time your problem could be entirely physical, caused by a head injury you can't tell us about." She scratches a few more sentences down. "You know how to speak, and that's a positive sign. Can you remember your name?" You shake your head, no. "Interesting..."
"Before I continue this assessment, I think it would be prudent for you to be examined by our medical doctor to exclude a more physical cause for your being here. Unfortunately, he is unavailable until tomorrow. I will prescribe you some low-grade painkillers for use until that time." She scribbles a few words onto a pad of paper with a flourish, and presses a button on a nearby machine; the door buzzes, and then opens shortly afterwards, revealing the tall male orderly who escorted you here.
Dr. Callo rises and trots over to the man, passing him a slip of paper and talking to him in low tones. A few moments later, she turns to you and smiles. "I don't think it would be prudent to allow you to roam free tonight, so we'll have your food and medication brought to your room and leave you time to get settled in. You'll be seeing the doctor first thing in the morning, so be sure to have a good night's rest. Everard?" She pats the large man on his arm, and he lumbers over to you, ready to escort you back to your room.
The twelfth floor is carpeted, more comfortable, and it is a short and simple walk to what is apparently your destination: a wide wood-paneled room with several heavy cabinets lining the walls, a pair of chairs and couch in the center, and huge bright windows dominating the outside wall, showing the clustered mid-point panoply of the city around you. The woman directs you to take a seat and waves the man outside; you hear the door lock as he closes it, and when you sit down, so does she.
"They call me Dr. Callo," she tells you, "and I'm going to be doing your assessment today." She picks up a clipboard and pen from a nearby table and holds it easily on one knee. "I'm just going to ask you a few questions here, get to know you better. I was told that you were found stumbling around and disoriented on Beach Street. Do you remember that?" You shake your head, no. "Hm, that's odd. What's the last thing that you remember?" You remember being brought into the hospital, you tell her, but nothing before that. She scribbles a few sentences on her clipboard and nods.
"It seems you've suffered a great shock or injury. Amnesia is usually a coping mechanism, albeit an extreme one, that the mind falls back on when it learns something it cannot cope with; at the same time your problem could be entirely physical, caused by a head injury you can't tell us about." She scratches a few more sentences down. "You know how to speak, and that's a positive sign. Can you remember your name?" You shake your head, no. "Interesting..."
"Before I continue this assessment, I think it would be prudent for you to be examined by our medical doctor to exclude a more physical cause for your being here. Unfortunately, he is unavailable until tomorrow. I will prescribe you some low-grade painkillers for use until that time." She scribbles a few words onto a pad of paper with a flourish, and presses a button on a nearby machine; the door buzzes, and then opens shortly afterwards, revealing the tall male orderly who escorted you here.
Dr. Callo rises and trots over to the man, passing him a slip of paper and talking to him in low tones. A few moments later, she turns to you and smiles. "I don't think it would be prudent to allow you to roam free tonight, so we'll have your food and medication brought to your room and leave you time to get settled in. You'll be seeing the doctor first thing in the morning, so be sure to have a good night's rest. Everard?" She pats the large man on his arm, and he lumbers over to you, ready to escort you back to your room.