[hr][hr][center][img]https://images-ext-2.discordapp.net/external/I6mf9Ct4crxUqfPuGcRdA3g-s-RA--eXx7HnRAi9MIA/https/i.imgur.com/ZF1PQyX.png[/img][hr][hr][b][color=darkgray]Location:[/color][/b] Room 8
[b][color=darkgray]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][/center]
	Cal awoke to the feeling of her heart banging against her chest. She flew up into a sitting position, her head whirling around, wide eyes scanning the room for any threat. Had something awoken her? It felt like something had awoken her. But as she looked around the room, her tense shoulders relaxed, seeing no visible signs of anyone there. Her relaxation only lasted seconds, though, as the sudden terror she'd woken up to morphed into an uneasy confusion. She didn't recognize this place. The sleek design, the lack of decoration...was it some sort of high-tech prison? She didn't remember ever being here. She should be...she should be...she...she couldn't remember where she should've been. Her breath quickened once again, her hands reaching up to her temples. Where had she been last? She couldn't remember. Where had she ever been? Where there should've been an answer inside her head, there was nothing. Her breaths were getting faster, more shallow, as she scrambled around inside her own head. But she found nothing. Nothing but a name.

	[i]Caliban Castro.[/i] That was her name. Grabbing onto it was like grabbing onto life jacket; it pulled her out of the sea of panic she'd been submerged in. She forced her respiration to slow, turning into deep breaths, inhaling through the nostrils and exhaling from the mouth. She had to work with what she had. And what she had was a name. Caliban. What kind of name was that? He was a monster, right? In the Tempest? Her eyebrows popped up at the thought. It would appear as though she knew the basics of Shakespearean literature. Good to know. Her eyes turned up. She also had a room. Why had her first assumption been that it was a prison? The question flashed across her mind, but she didn't make any attempt to answer it as she swung her legs out of her bed. The nightstand beside her bed was the first thing to grab her interest. She slid open the drawer, only to be greeted by the sound of something rolling from the movement. She looked down to see a small, empty orange bottle rolling outward, stopping as it hit the interior of the drawer's front. She snatched up the bottle, turning it in her hand until she could see the label.

	[color=darkgray]"Vincent O'Mally..."[/color] she read allowed. Who was Vincent O'Malley? She wasn't Vincent O'Mally. Was she? It was a more normal name than Caliban. Maybe she was Vincent O'Mally. As the thought came to mind, she instinctively reached to her chest, as if to see if something, she wasn't sure what, was still there. When it met its destination, she looked down at it. She had boobs. So chances are she was not, in fact, Vincent. Once she had that figured out, she turned her attention back to the bottle. Her eyes drifted past the name, and onto a word printed in bold: OXYCODONE. Her eyebrows furrowed. Why was there an empty bottle of powerful, highly addictive painkillers sitting in her bedside table? Had she tried to...The thought dissipated before it was complete, replaced by a different question: how'd she know what oxycodone was? Was it just common knowledge? She probed at the part of her mind that had given a definition to the drug in attempt to draw more information from it.

	[color=darkgray][i]Oxycodone is a potent opioid used to relieve pain. Some brands include Oxecta, Xtampza ER, and OxyCon-[/i][/color] Cal cut herself off, head flinching back in surprise, the corners of her lips pulling into a small smirk. [color=darkgray]"Well, Mr. O'Mally, it would seem that I'm a pharmacist,"[/color] she said, words soaked with pride. With those words, she placed the bottle on top of the night stand, turning back to the rest of her room. The general undecoratedness of the gray room brought her mind back to the prison theory. Maybe this was some sort of high class prison for dangerous criminals, kept secret by the government, where they took their prisoners' memories to steal any chance they had of escape! She turned her face up to the upper corner, where she imagined a camera would be if there were one.

	[color=darkgray]"I want to see my lawyer,"[/color] she called out to the imaginary security camera. What followed was the most deafening silence Caliban remembered ever hearing, which wasn't saying much. She hadn't noticed how quiet it was until the time came for her to wait for a response. She let the silence surround her for what felt like minutes, before letting out a sigh. [color=darkgray]"I...think it might just be you and me, Vincent,"[/color] she mumbled. The prison theory became less believable the more she thought about it. Vicious criminals don't read Shakespeare...and they definitely aren't pharmacists. She sat defeated on the corner of her bed, but as she did, she felt her leg rub against something hard, something that didn't match the softness of the bed. She looked down, eyes catching sight of something sticking out of the mattress. She reached for it, pulling it out and raising it to her eye. It was some sort of strange small vial full of clear liquid.

	[color=darkgray]"Huh..."[/color] she muttered, eyes shifting from the vial to the orange bottle on her nightstand. [color=darkgray]"Vince, I believe we've found a clue."[/color]