It turns out that physical and mental health are very valuable to people like Pandora. Of course, they can’t just send people like me to a normal clinic or a public therapist, so they make sure to have their own private facilities, and personnel, for those purposes. According to Pandora, there’s a guideline of one clinic, one doctor, and two nurses for every twenty residents. So inside of Pandora’s Box, there are ten clinics set up, and five of them are staffed by qualified professionals.
Mental health is a bit easier, as one counselor can serve more patients easily. There are three counselors employed by Pandora’s Box, though the guideline allows one for every fifty residents. I have no idea how we get medication in here, though, without making this operation visible to the public.
# # #
I would rather not be knocked out again, I decided. So I nodded. “Fine. I’ll follow,” I said.
“Good girl,” Pandora said, a soft smile on her face. “Now, follow.” She walked outside of the room, turning to the left.
I followed, holding my arms up to keep my breasts covered. The hallway was clean, with a firm carpeting on the floor, and white walls and ceilings. The hallway crossed a few intersections, with archways just before the intersection points, and had a number of doors on each side. Some of the doors had a black stripe across them at a level that was easy to spot, with stenciled text on the stripe in white. Near one of the doors I noticed a large display (about 2 meters long, I guessed) installed in the wall, showing what looked like a map. I didn’t have time to take in the map, though, as Pandora was walking rather quickly.
We walked for a few minutes before we entered a doorway on the right. There was a black stripe, but I couldn’t read the text before the door slid open. However, I guessed the purpose of the room quickly enough once I stepped inside.
The room was clean and quite a bit larger than the cell I had woken up in. To the left was an office with a computer sitting at it, behind a glass window. To the right were a few beds, with a divider between each pair. In the middle was a chair very similar to the seat in a dentist’s office. It was some sort of clinic or medical room.
Standing by the chair was a doctor – a black man in dark slacks and a white tunic – and two nurses with unusually large breasts and faces like a plastic doll. They were wearing white dresses with pink trim at the collar and shoulders. They also wore a patch with a red cross. The doctor spoke up first. “So this is the new patient, madame Pandora?”
“Yes, Doctor.” Pandora turned to face me. “It is standard procedure for our new arrivals to receive a complete medical examination and a necessary implant. Behave for the doctor, or you will be sedated.”
I looked around the room again and nodded slowly. “Oh. . . So this is just a medical exam?”
Pandora nodded once. The doctor spoke up with a chuckle. “Indeed. Please have a seat. It won’t take very long.”
I nodded and walked over to the chair, flipping the little mental switch that allowed me to change my form. “I suppose I should be in human form, right?” The change took perhaps fifteen seconds in total, but once I could see that my hands were no longer covered in fur, after about five seconds, I sat down.
“Ah, very nice,” the Doctor said. “It’s always a hassle finding the veins through a coat of fur. I’ll be sure to record that you can shift between your human and furry forms, though. Now, do you have any known medical conditions?”
“N. . . No,” I said softly. “None I know of. And I’ve been able to change since I was thirteen. As long as I’ve been a furry.”
The doctor nodded and one of the nurses handed him a needle. “Now, we’re going to get most of your results from a blood test. Do you use any medical or recreational drugs?”
I nodded about the blood test, staying calm. My doctor had been testing my blood every year since I was fifteen. . . “Ah, my mother is diabetic. I’m not, but I guess you should know about that. And I drink, but I don’t smoke or anything.” I swallowed a bit, hoping he would accept that.
“Just alcohol? Keep in mind that this test will pick up traces of any recreational drugs you’ve used recently, and lying here won’t make madame happy.”
I looked to Pandora, and saw her nodding. “I don’t know if I did anything last night. I remember going to the club, I ordered a drink, and ended up here. I haven’t smoked marijuana in the last six months, and I don’t recall ever trying anything else.”
The doctor nodded. “And how often did you smoke marijuana before?”
“About every two weeks,” I said. “It was something one of my friends started, but I didn’t join them every week.”
“And they never tried anything else?”
“I never tried anything else,” I said, feeling my throat tighten up. “They brought other things from time to time. I never tried them.”
The doctor nodded and withdrew the syringe. “Good. Now, we’re going to implant an identification chip in your arm. It will enable your presence to open the autodoors in here, though only those you are allowed to access. Any door that doesn’t open for you alone… well, make sure you have an escort in such areas.”
The other nurse handed him a syringe, and he felt along my arm. He put it in near my wrist and pressed down on the plunger for a very short instant. After he took the needle out, I saw a tiny bump. “This is a microscopic radio frequency identification tag. This facility was built with computers everywhere, and they can check your tag to determine what doors to open for you. It will also let you into your quarters, give you access to our computer system, and allow other staff to know anything important, like your medical history, as needed. And don’t worry about the bump, that will disappear by tomorrow morning.”
As he was speaking, the doctor looked over me with some help from the nurses. They used calipers, measuring tapes, and apparently the chair itself could measure my weight. The doctor personally held the measuring tape at the base of my neck, and nodded. “So we need a size eight, Holly.”
I heard more than saw the nurse step away. She wasn’t gone very long, and as she returned she held out a delicate-looking black ring. The doctor took it and clasped it around my neck. It felt a bit cool on my skin, like plastic. “Jenny, get me the scanner unit.”
The other nurse stepped away and grabbed something from a table. It looked a lot like a smartphone, and as the doctor tapped the screen I wondered if it was more like a smartphone than it seemed. “Synchronizing.” He pointed the camera to my wrist, then after a beep, he aimed it at my neck and tapped the screen. “Good. Collar synchronized to subject tag 12L-0039. Collar lock fully engaged.”
“And why am I wearing a collar, again?”
Pandora grinned at me. She held up her own smartphone-like device, and showed me the screen. She was standing close enough for me to read. “For your training, Hannah. This is a training collar.”