It was plain, almost overtly so, as though it were laying low and waiting to strike. A conspicuously inconspicuous building—short and squat in the middle of town, tucked into a strip mall. It was odd, almost too normal looking. And no one batted an eye when it appeared; took over whatever craft or beauty store had originally resided there.
Everyone was aware of this massive biocorp sweeping the nation with its new advancements in the medical field… and this was a smaller branch connected to it allowing easier access to the new care they provided, no one celebrated or acted like they were so much better than the hospital. It was as if it was in its own little bubble separate from everyone's perceptions but still watching, like it had always existed there, or maybe it would be more apt to say as though it still didn't exist.
He didn't know, he only knew that the flyer simply said that walk-ins were available and they could help you adjust to your body with the newest advancements. Whether that be psychological or physical was remaining to be seen, though he couldn't be sure he was ready to go through with anything if it were physical. He took a breath and sighed, not like he had much to lose, it was just a consultation anyway. He could make a decision at a later date, and with that thought he entered the building.
The interior was a strange mix of being both dim and irritatingly bright—a place that, while lit, could put you to sleep in minutes. None of the light fixtures were warm or inviting; all were sterile and white, almost pallid. Sickly, yet designed to stave off sickness. An incessant buzzing hung in the background, not loud enough to consciously notice, but just enough to make him feel off.
He stepped up to the counter. The receptionist didn't even look up, just typed away at her computer and pointed to a sign, subtle enough that it almost blended into the wall: Take a seat and wait to be called.
It set off warning bells immediately, though he tried to dismiss them. There were no others in the room. They probably handled the paperwork and exams in separate rooms. For now, all he could do was sit and wait.
The tapping, unlike the buzzing, wasn't constant. The fingers at the keyboard held a tension that the buzzing didn't—rhythmic, repetitive. Like she was typing out the same sentence, over and over and over. With a short pause between repetitions. One, two, three—begin. Pause. One, two, three. Again. And again.
Time blurred. He tried to count the cycles, guessing maybe twenty minutes had passed, but in this room, with its off-kilter hum and stale air, that sense could have been completely wrong.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the rhythm shifted—an almost imperceptible half-second longer pause—and she spoke.
"Hey, you! They're ready to see you. Right through here."
She gestured vaguely behind her toward a door he could've sworn hadn't been there before. "Second door on the right, down the stairs and then the third on the left. Good luck."
Her voice was almost robotic, as if someone had flipped a switch and given her consciousness moments before.
But he complied.
The hallway beyond was warmer, and the buzzing faded—he couldn't hear it anymore. It was like a weight had lifted from his skull; for the first time since he'd entered, his thoughts felt clear. And like she said, he found the stairs. He walked down the steps for what felt like longer than he should have, descending an unnatural length. But he continued, step after step, until he reached the next hallway and, finally, the third door.
Inside, it looked… normal. Like any doctor's office. The patient table, tongue depressors, computer, cabinets—everything. It felt almost friendly. Almost.
But how could it be? They were god knows how far under the actual building.
He switched his brain off for a moment, letting the sterile calm wash over him. He spaced out, waiting for someone—doctor, nurse, anyone—to enter. And once again, it began to feel like an eternity.
How long had he been here? He'd left his phone at home on purpose, determined to give this his full attention. Not that anyone would miss him. Maybe work would send a warning. Maybe. But otherwise… nothing.
Time dragged on in that strange way only sterile rooms manage—both faster and slower than the rest of the world. A limbo with white walls.
Then, at last, the door creaked open. A balding, bespectacled man in a lab coat walked in, clipboard in hand, chatting on the phone about weekend dinner plans with friends. He was jovial, almost warm. So far, he was the most normal thing he'd encountered since stepping into the building.