Delia gasps and sits up in a foreign room. She groans and clutches her head. Her frown deepens when no sign of the bullet that was once there is found. "Where the hell am I?" she mutters. She looks around the room. It's simple, but a table stocked with odd materials lines one wall, and a flatscreen is hung on the wall across from the bed. A few mannequins stand in the corner. She ignores the rush of blood that went to her head from sitting up too quickly and searches frantically for her bag.