The first thought that crossed Dom's mind was, 'Is this one of those zombie apocalypse movies that I accidentally got casted for where the dude wakes up in hospital?' The second was, 'Shit, this light is bright.' The third: 'Now where the fuck is my food?'
When he opened his eyes, a lance of white-hot pain speared his head, going right through his brain. He winced, gasping slightly. He found that if he squinted so tight that he could see his eyelashes, he could kind of see. Except, as he so elegantly put it, 'But I still can't see jack shit.' Millimeter by millimeter, Dom opened his eyes, and even though the spear of pain had grown marginally weaker, it still took a good minute or two for his eyes to fully adjust.

He took a look around his room. It was all white, with very bright lighting, and he was lying in one of those hospital beds, with an IV stuck in his arm.
'Now', he said out loud, 'some crazy-ass motherfucker would pull that IV outta they arms. But I ain't a crazy-ass motherfucker, so...' And he leant back, closing his eyes. He could've slept for 30 minutes or 7 years, but either way he was still dog-tired. He wasn't out of it enough to not remember that he was in a different location, but Dom didn't take much notice. In the asylum, it had happened again, and again. He'd go to sleep in one cell and wake up in a whole new different area. The best one was when he fell asleep in South Carolina and woke up in Venezuela of all places. Because of all this, Dom didn't stress. He just sat back, and waited for something to happen.