[i]On this day, there was one individual who was not enjoying themselves. The door to the hospital in Dojoville slid open, and a woman walked out—however that was only told by her feminine figure. Her face was covered with a black mask, a thin layer of steel on top of that. Where the woman's mouth would be was instead a small, silver cylinder, full of a gaseous medicine for the woman; a medicine she had be breathing in daily to avoid attacks cause by her recently contracted disease. Her head was bald, a side effect of said disease, her light olive skin no longer having a single hair on it. If one was to listen closely, the metallic sounds of the woman's permanently altered voice were heard, the quiet sobs of somebody who had never felt worse.[/i]