No worries, Xobim.

***
When she next awoke, the pain was still present. She cautiously opened her eyes, slitting them against the light.
Not the same room. It was white, but clean. There was no shattered equipment, no blood. Medical equipment stood beside her bed. And there were windows, guarded by the metal slats of the lowered blinds.
Her limbs felt like they were weighted with lead, and the pain thudded through them, a dull, omnipresent ache. But she could feel them, and she was alive. She lifted one hand to her forehead, then noticed the IV taped to the back of it, the faint bloodstains in the ivory fur.
Not a dream, then?
Where was she?
But she was so very tired, and comfortable despite the pain ...

The soft sound of a door opening brought her back to wakefulness. Her room was dim, but light from the hall streamed in through the door, limning the jacketed figure of a doctor and falling across the bed.
The anonymous doctor leaned over her, and capable fingers took her pulse. He studied the medical equipment intently, then made a note on his clipboard and left as quietly as he had come.

At some point during the night it occurred to her that she should be afraid.
She couldn’t remember what had happened to her, nor whom had done it. But she knew that it was not a dream, and the half-remembered awakenings in agony were sinister in retrospect.
Who was taking such trouble to heal her?
She had no illusions that they were friendly, simply because they were treating her injuries. Kindness did not mean friendship.
Who had she learned that from?
Everything was hazy in her mind. It took such effort to think, to remember even her name; yet, she must remember, for it was vital to her survival.
Her name was ... was ...
Exhaustion overtook her and she slept.

She woke once more the the door opening. Sunlight streamed in despite the blinds, slanting across the wall in horizontal bars that brought to mind prisons and deprivation.
“Awake, are we?” the doctor - for she assumed he was such - said in a lowered voice that still conveyed cheerfulness, after checking the instruments again. “How are you feeling?” He took her pulse in a professional manner, and examined a chart.
“Tired,” she whispered, for her voice seemed to have deserted her.
She recalled screaming until her voice gave out.
“That’s expected. You’ve been through a lot of trauma, and lost a lot of blood. But you’re on the mend, and we’ll have you up and about in no time.”
“Where .. am I?”
“Whitmore County Hospital. I haven’t seen injuries as severe as yours in a very long time, missie. I’m curious as to what happened, but I’m sure they’ll ask you all those questions later, when you’ve recovered.”
“... they?”
“No more questions. You need all the sleep you can get if you’re to recover.” He left quickly but quietly, and closed the door after him, leaving her with her unanswered questions.

What had happened?
She remembered smoke, thick and choking, filling the room. Remembered sparks flashing through the shifting darkness. Remembered screams and the sound of people running.
Remembered fear.
She remembered a grin, manic and insane, and flashing steel.
Blood. Pain. Laughter, wild and malicious.
She could not recall how the room had gone from smoke-filled to clear air. Could not remember when the gravity generators had failed. She didn’t know what had happened to any of the others; they had fled, and she had been left behind, to the mercy of whoever owned that grin.
All of the blood in that room had been hers.

“How much blood did I lose?” she asked later, when the doctor returned. Her voice was still gone, and she spoke in a husky whisper.
“Most of it,” the doctor said bluntly. “We gave you transfusions as soon as we could. Frankly, it’s a miracle you survived.”
“Is anything ... damaged?”
“Hard to say,” he admitted. “Your injuries were extensive. You may lose some feeling in your hands and feet. Nothing serious, though, which is another miracle.”
“So many miracles,” she whispered, lying back wearily. “What was the point?”
The doctor cleared his throat uncertainly, but she was no longer paying any attention to him.