Chapter 6: A glimpse into the future

Isabell took me to the infirmary, which was necessary for several reasons. For one thing, I didn’t know it yet, so I didn’t know where it was, and for another, I had to find my way out of the basement first. Finding the elevator wasn’t difficult, as the hallway had no branches, but upstairs I had to somehow get past Sesame, and no one had shown me how to do that yet. We chatted a little on the way. Surprise, surprise, she also lived in the building, in room 322. Her specialties were, also unsurprisingly, clinic sex, latex, golden showers, but also blood play and extreme insertion. She only worked in the basement once a week to pay the rent, while the rest of the time she performed her show upstairs. Apparently, she had enough regular customers to generate a decent income. She wasn’t a star, didn’t do her own shows down here, but was always just an extra. “It’s better for my health,” she replied when asked why.

Passing through Sesame proved surprisingly straightforward: once you reached the hidden door, you stood in the area marked on the floor and held your hand in front of the clearly visible sensor. Above the door was a small traffic light that turned green. “I hate this traffic light,” she remarked as the door swung open.

“Why?”

“Because the door doesn’t open as long as the light is red. They could have solved that in a much more elegant way.”

“Why, what does that mean?” I asked, not understanding.

Annoyed, she exhaled, “Haven’t you read it either? It means that someone is walking around in the basement without authorization. Not everyone is supposed to know where to go down here. And as long as the little green LED light on the other side isn’t lit, you can’t get down here from there. You can wave your chip in front of the wall as long as you want.”

“Oh, that’s why I had trouble opening Sesame earlier. I just thought I hadn’t found the right spot to hold my hand. But I wasn’t alone in the basement. Rike had just done the laundry.”

“Sesame?” She looked puzzled for a moment until it dawned on her. She nodded, laughing. “That makes sense. It’s always Rike when the door doesn’t open. Even the doorman has access to the basement here. If there are other visitors in the building, we are warned downstairs. The break room also serves as a place to wait out a raid. By the way, the sensor is easy to find: it’s where the dowel hole is. Just hold your hand in front of it, you don’t need another spell.”

We reached the infirmary without any problems or delays. There we said goodbye. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you want to know anything else. But don’t use your cell phone. Use the house phone. Just dial the apartment number. The house phone is muted when you’re online, but it gives a visual signal. And we’re not allowed to discuss anything related to the basement on cell phones or the internet anyway.”

She thoughtfully refrained from hugging me.

There was a doorbell with an intercom and camera at the door to the ward. It took a while before a female voice answered and asked me what I needed. What should I say? I shrugged. Best to tell the truth: “My back was whipped pretty badly, and I’m bleeding again.”

I didn’t understand the words that were muttered in response, but I was also sure that I wouldn’t have wanted to understand them. “I’ll be right there!” came the understandable words that followed.

I had expected a nurse, but the middle-aged woman introduced herself as a doctor. Her name was Kling, and she was a gynecologist. The small practice was apparently equipped with everything necessary. The door I had rung was the back entrance to the practice. The main entrance was on the street parallel to my apartment building. It was a surprisingly large building. The doctor examined my back thoroughly, cleaned the open wounds, and applied some adhesive bandages. Then I was given a sterile wound dressing and was partially mummified. Finally, she gave me a pack of painkillers and took out a small scanner. “Right or left hand?” I didn’t understand. “Where is the chip?” I held out my left hand, she held the reader over it, and a short beep sounded. No questions about where it came from, no comments. Except: “Next time, please let us know in advance so you don’t have to wait outside the door for so long. I thought we were done for today. Come to the consultation hour tomorrow afternoon to have the bandage changed. Good night.” With that, I was dismissed.

I stowed the tablets unopened in my bag. My back was burning just enough to feel good, and I wanted to enjoy the sensation. On the way to my apartment, I made a detour to the snack vending machine. My stomach had made itself uncomfortably known. Indecisive, I looked at the offerings. There were machines with fresh food, drinks, and, of course, snacks and sweets. A salad with chicken and a bottle of water would have to suffice. Here, too, it was possible to pay by chip. Convenient, since I had left my wallet in the apartment. When I arrived at my door, I rummaged through my bag for the chip card for my apartment. It was missing. It must have fallen out of my bag unnoticed in the basement. Damn, how am I going to get in? I went to the reception desk, not expecting to find anyone there. But to my surprise, someone was still sitting there. The middle-aged man was muscular, obviously well-trained, and gave the impression of a bodyguard rather than a night porter. “Good morning, how can I help you?” he greeted me in a very professional and friendly manner.