You don't know why, but you've woken up. It's dark, and you can hear gears churning in your chest. You don't think it used to make that noise, but you can't remember what else it ought to do. Your eye clicks open - just the one, a camera buzzing as it begins transmitting to your whirring brain. You realise, belatedly, that the other eye isn't working because there's a knife in it. A knife being held by a filthy looking man, who seems somewhat alarmed - perhaps because five inches of steel through your eye socket seems to've made you more alive, not less.

>What is the man wearing?
>Ragged furs - his brow his heavy, and he is covered in the ash of a fire. Scale tattoos mark his skin.
>Chainmail and plates of steel, his knife fine and sharp, but not nearly enough to kill you. He is praying, under his breath.
>Ripped biking leathers and bits of old tire - a necklace of teeth and a pipe pistol at his waist.
>A tin helmet and khaki green uniform. His bayonet is lodged in the wall behind your head, and the rifle is pressed about an inch behind where your eye used to be.