To The Processing Room

The processing room used to be the nurse's office. Most of the beds are gone. The only one that remains has been pushed into the corner of the room. Some of the medical equipment is still there. The nurse's combination ruler and scale, the one a lot of doctors use to measure your height and weight, is there. The blood pressure pump is on the cabinet. A large black sheet has been hung up on one of the walls, and is opposite a camera, behind which sits the first Imperial Citizen you've seen without power armor. So they're going to take pictures of you later. Of course. It wouldn't due for people to buy you without getting to see your pretty face.

Besides the Nothian speaker, there are two soldiers waiting in the room. "Now," the Nothian speaker says, "we're going to take some measurements. Stand here." He directs you to the ruler-scale. You're 5'6" and weigh 151 lbs. He takes your blood pressure, {if Trust=-25} 135 over 94 {elseif Trust=-30} 110 over 69 {else} 124 over 82 {endif}, a saliva swab, and pricks your finger for a bit of blood. He gets a tape measure, and wraps it around your neck. Your neck circumference is 14".

"That's for a collar?" you ask.

"Yes," he says.

You're not some goldmine of Imperial Trivia, but you know about their **** collars. They look unassuming enough, like simple cloth hoops that fit comfortably around your neck, but they're much, much more. Once the collar is on you, your owner, or anyone with their permission, can activate it, and it will hurt you. It can hurt you a little, if they're feeling generous, or it can hurt you a lot. You've seen it in movies, people with **** collars, collapsing to the ground and moaning in agony while their owners laugh and mash the button.

He pulls a collar out of a nearby drawer "Pretty average size. This one here should fit." With a digital key that seems to be built into his armor, he undoes its lock. "Now hold still," he says, as he goes to wrap the thing around your neck.