Chester sighed and waited for his carer to come back out of his room, hoping it was good enough for him. He hadn't seen the room much. It was about the same size as his own room, but without the holes and bloodstains. Thinking of the bloodstained sheets, he grimaced and looked down at his leg. He could see where the fake leg connected with the stump of his real one. Dried blood was still seen on his thigh. He'd have to ask for help with it. He probably stabbed himself with a lose wire or screw.

He stood up awkwardly and hobbled to his carer's room, knocking on the half open door before looking in. "Could you help with something?" he asked, glancing at the clothes.