[h1][b][i][color=39b54a][center]Felix Hausten[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center]Location: Justice Memorial Hospital [/center]

Pathetic, that was a very accurate way to describe how Felix felt in his current situation. But the overwhelming feeling of self-blame hung over him like a blanket, blocking out his capacity to think properly, this coinsided with the pain well. As he was wheeled to elevators and then to the operating room, it was like he couldn't move. Like he was submerged in some sort of tank, unable to help himself. A mistake away from death, the pain flooding through him like a current of electricity. Truly he was a screw up. From the day he was born to the day where he got stabbed in the eye with a fucking crayon and his actions led to another man dying, let alone the rest of the chaos that was no doubt unfolding due to the asylum incident.

This doctor, Natascha Brinne, he couldn't fixate much on her with his free eye but from what she said, she knew what she was doing. Even if she wasn't the one in charge, he could tell he wasn't being given to sub-par surgeons who'd let him bleed out. From what he heard, he'd be stuck for a day, a day to think. To decide what to do. He wished the pain would go away, so he could think again. To get rid of the guilt. God did he need a drink or something, something to make all this go away. He looked up at the surgeons he was no doubt near, giving them a small squint before laying his head down flat again. This would be over soon, he knew that. But what came next was daunting and a journey into the unknown.