A moment passed, and another, and then the elevator stopped. There was no indicator to show how many floors we’d ascended; I assumed that the code she’d entered had specified our destination, which seemed to me like a good way of ensuring that the facility’s test subjects didn’t know for sure how many levels underground they were housed.
Not a question I could ask, however. Instead, I followed Dr. Richards out of the elevator and down another hallway, this one painted in the same gray tones as the one where my suite was located. She brought me into what looked like a standard examination room, with one of those elevated exam tables and a blood pressure monitor and a scale. The sharp scent of rubbing alcohol hung in the air.
A woman who appeared about a decade older than the doctor came i
