Life is a game.
Your age is the score.
However, there is a level many never reach, a level riddled with mentally ill walkers, stalkers, and even crawlers. A level where staying alive is a difficult balance of rare and expensive powerups called "medications" which can only be provided by even rarer aloof NPCs with the power over life and death called "Doctors."
In the nursing home, many members of the criminally insane who have served their debt to society but whom are still unsafe to unleash in the general populace wander the halls preying upon the weak, stealing their life giving medications and most precious personal treasures in their dying moments like vultures picking the eyes out of living corpses too close to death to defend themselves but just alive enough to suffer the final horrible truth of their dissolution.
I for one plan to create a harem of incapacitated old women who I exploit for medication fueled geriatric orgies in exhibitionist defiance of the staff's regulations.
What is your plan to survive? Will you become one of the fallen, wandering the halls with half rotten feet looking for victims, or will you barricade yourself in your room in the false hope the nursing staff will defend you against the half-dead horde?
This is a song about death. It's on mandolin.
Hate is the first step to all solutions.
You will not end bigotry until you learn to hate it.
