Let's follow Meg.

Meg stepped off the elevator into the hospital lobby, looking around mildly. A small group of men in scrubs were leaving together, chatting amicably. The receptionist was smiling broadly, her breasts no longer on display. Meg turned and headed toward the food court.

The hospital's food court was a typical arrangement of prepackaged utilitarian sandwiches and salads. She looked over the salads with little interest. It was strange, having a desire to eat uncoupled from external input. Meg felt like she was possessed, like some strange thing had taken root in her mind and was driving her to make decisions that didn't conform to anyone else's needs.

She selected a small Caesar salad and made her way to the seating area. A tall, slender drone in an nondescript red jumpsuit was mopping the floor and a few people were scattered around the room eating. Meg sat and began picking at her salad listlessly. The hunger was there, just like always, but she had to learn to listen to it. Before now it was just a piece of information like any other; knowing that she was hungry had no more bearing on her behavior than knowing the capital of Morocco.

Meg heard footsteps and looked up from her salad to see the janitor drone approaching with a man. Seeing her face clearly, Meg immediately understood why he had selected her; medium-length blonde hair framed her delicate features, including striking hazel eyes that might have been piercing had there been real agency behind them. As she was, they were cloudy marbles, taking in all the sights before them without registering any new thoughts or ideas.

"Make out," the man commanded them. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and was bald with a greasy goatee. The drone immediately acquiesced, her tall frame stooping to press her lips to Meg's. Meg leaned backwards but the woman kept trying, pressing herself against Meg. Meg felt a pressure on her left tit and realized she was being groped.

"Stop," she said weakly, and the drone froze. Meg told her to back off and she complied, revealing an expression of shock on the man's face.

"Are- did you just- did you just fucking disobey me?" he asked. He didn't sound upset or angry, but genuinely disturbed. "How did you do that?"

Meg suddenly felt a tinge of cold fear. She tried to ignore him, bury her head in her salad, but he sat down next to her. His breath smelled like pickles and cheap cigarettes as he bombarded her with questions.

"Hey, I'm fucking talking to you. How did you do that? You gave a command and she followed it. What are you?"

"Nothing," Meg mumbled. "I'm sorry. Please just leave me alone."

The guy shook his head. "No way. You're a fucking freak, lady. I wonder if there's a reward for turning you in to the authorities."

Meg suddenly stood and moved to leave, her half-finished salad still sitting on the table. The man told the drone to restrain her and before she could react, the woman had Meg's arms pinned behind her. She was surprisingly strong. The stranger looked her over with a lecherous smile.

"Whatever's gotten into you, I think a good fucking would get it out. Why don't you take off those pants?"

"No," she said more emphatically. "I don't want that."

"Nobody cares," he said. "Look around you. Do you think anybody's gonna stop me? Now, I said to take off your-"

"Punch him!" Meg yelled to the drone, who immediately let go of her arms and threw a haymaker, hitting the man in the jaw. He staggered back, startled, and Meg seized the opportunity.

"Keep punching!" she said, and the drone released a volley of blows. "Kick his ass until he leaves!"

The man turned and fled, holding his hands to his bruised face. Meg breathed a sigh of relief and looked around. Only drones and servants were around, so nobody paid any attention to their interaction. She turned to the janitor drone who had been both her captor and her savior in the span of a few minutes.

"Are you ok?" she asked, realizing how stupid it sounded as it came out of her mouth.

"Yes," the woman intoned dully. "May I help you with anything else?"

Meg took her hands, which were hanging limply at her side, and inspected them. The knuckles were already swelling with bruises and there was a bit of blood on them. "Let's get you cleaned up," she said, and led the docile woman to the bathroom.