The panels slid out from the walls as she keyed a sequence, the clinic reconfiguring itself into something far more serious than a back-alley repair shop. The chair Xavier was sitting on folded backward and sank into the floor, reshaping into a cradle that locked his spine, neck, and skull in place without asking for consent. Thin bands of light traced his body, mapping bone density, nerve clusters, blood flow, and whatever else the system cared about more than comfort.
"Before you panic," she said while pulling a translucent pod down from the ceiling on articulated arms, "this isn't anesthesia. It's neural isolation. You won't feel pain the normal way, but your body will still experience everything."
Xavier exhaled slowly. "That's reassuring in a very threatening way."
