Rosalyn awoke to a terrible ache. It started in her neck, wound its way past her shoulder into her arm, and then twisted its way back up into her forehead to finish her off with a headache.

Rosalyn's attuned reflexes kicked in. She had grown accustomed to sleeping under bridges, and her experiences with waking up elsewhere had each been dire straits, situations that she had only narrowly escaped from with her life.

Rosalyn spun to her left, flexing her limbs in a bid for freedom, obscuring her vision with her dark brown hair while also proving that she was on a bed, surrounded by safety rails, wrapped with blankets, and not strapped down.

Taking this in stride, she bolted upright, seizing the rails on either side of her to assist with bringing her legs under her into a crouch, keeping hold of the safety rails to assist her balance.

Unfortunately for her, her hair caught on something behind her, and had wrapped itself around her face, keeping her vision obscured.

A normal person would take a moment to clear their vision, to better ascertain their circumstances. A normal person also wouldn't do drugs, nor would they be able to escape repeated kidnapping attempts with only grazing scars. Thusly, by these definitions, Rosalyn was not normal, and obviously scoffed at the idea of even acting normal.

Feeling the texture of the safety rails, as well as the consistency of the sheets she was wrapped in, she concluded that somebody had her trapped in a room with medical equipment, using hospital standard supplies. Therefore, whoever it was that kidnapped her must have a doctor complex, and would likely dress up as and act like a doctor while applying their torturous ministrations.

This only took her a split second to conclude(unfortunately, this sort of thing had happened before), so she instinctively tore the needle out of her arm barely a moment later, and made to leap forwards.

Rosalyn had only been in the early waking moments of her day, however, and wasn't at her best. She had forgotten the minor details concerning her limited vision and the restrictions imposed by her caught hair.

There was a snapping, crackling noise behind her, and her neck was janked backwards as the rest of her body moved out from under her, and her spine arced uncomfortably to accommodate the pull on her hair. Her legs passed over the safety rail at the foot of the bed, and their momentum pulled her out into a pseudo-reclining position.

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When her head hit the mattress, she reached up and took hold of her hair. Yanking with all her strength, using her calves on the foot of the bed for leverage, she tore her hair free from whatever it was tangled with.

Now inflicted with minor whiplash(in addition to her still impaired visibility and general sleepiness), she dug her heels into the bedframe, and curled up her torso up and over the end of the bed to try to land in a crouch.

Unfortunately, she once again suffered from her lack of vision.

As her feet moved to accommodate her crouch, Rosalyn hit her head on something large and hard located only a scant two to three feet from the end of the bed.

The blow was enough to jar Rosalyn, but unfortunately, it wasn't enough to put her out of her present, befuddled state.

Now a bedraggled, sheet-entangled, hair-blinded, concussed victim of whiplash, she concluded that somebody had hit her. She had expected the experience to be more needles and surgical tools, but Rosalyn liked to think that she was situationally flexible. Anyone who managed to kidnap her was probably also someone who could adapt to new scenarios.

Since her feet had landed, she decided to dodge whatever blow came next, and rolled to the side. Through her shifting hair, she caught glimpses of white walls lit fluorescently.

Pulling herself upright, presenting herself as a narrow and balanced target against her aggressor, Rosalyn decided to take the initiative. It spoke well of her determination and survival instinct that she was able to react so quickly in her injured and mentally confused state.

Rosalyn had never learned martial arts, but liked to think that anybody foolish enough to limit themselves to a limited moveset was a pretentious pansy. With that thought, she lunged in the direction her keen senses detected the hulking man was standing. Her hands curled to fists, and she brought her legs up to give her a foothold once she was in reach.

Rosalyn's hair cleared away from her eyes midflight enough to let her see the enemy. This let her realize her error as she moved on a collision course towards a tall cupboard at the foot of the hospital bed.

She only just managed to land with a crash, shoving into the cupboard. Her moment of realization let her move her feet so she wouldn't break any toes. Her hands, however, got no such action, and were subjected to the pain of punching a solid inanimate object.

Rosalyn left out a muffled cry as she fell away and onto her back from the tipping piece of furniture. As she cradled her hands against her chest, the cupboard landed with a crash and the sound of falling change.

The sound of coinage falling caught Rosalyn's attention. If she had been kidnapped, why was her money in the room?

Nurses and orderlies rushed into the room to find an injured, bewildered hobo, a monitor shattered by its plug, a cupboard on its side, and a miniscule fortune in change scattered across the whole floor of room 326.