"You can change your clothes, Julian," David said.
Julian nodded and stepped behind the curtain.
Moments later, he emerged in running shorts and a light compression top—bare arms, bare legs, his physique lean and balanced.
A pair of technicians moved efficiently around him, attaching sticky electrodes one by one—across his chest, along his arms, tracing his ribs, and down both legs. Twelve in total, each one a conduit linking body to machine.
Cold against his skin.
Precise. Measured.
"We'll be monitoring your heart rate, lung capacity, and muscular output," one of the technicians explained. "Think of it like a full scan of your engine."
Julian nodded. "Understood."
Another technician stepped forward, holding a respiratory mask—sleek, fitted with a clear tube connected to the main console.
