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

A brief moment of joy and anticipation flooded his body as he caught a glance of the notepad he had requested. He looked to the tray with the pencil and pad and reached for it. Then that brief moment of joy quickly passed over, his mouth left hanging open as the words he was about to let out were left empty. This was not his notepad. Almost instantly he began to feel goosebumps spread across his body like a virus. His notepad was gone. he always had his notepad on his person, yes it was true his clothes would have been ruined but in order to identify him they must have had his wallet. 

Without straining his neck too much, he looked around, his head scanning the room like a sensor, trying to pick out anything unusual, but his belongings, were nowhere to be found. That nurse who offered no hospitality? Wouldn't she have known the whereabouts of his belongings, she was the one who answered his call. He tried to look out the door to see anything but it was unlikely he'd see anything of note. His thoughts swam and raced as he panicked and began writing.

In this state of confusion and realisation of vulnerability once more, he began writing about the unknown whereabouts of his clothes, the connections of the rollerderby and the murders and the shooting. That was all he got before putting the pen and paper down, ripping the paper he'd just written on out and stuffing it under his pillow. It struck him that this wasn't neccessarily Justice Memorial Hospital, or if it was, he might not be in the safest of hands. He began writing about his home life, it was on his mind, and it wouldn't appear unusual to anyone who came snooping.