This is the story of Greg House's first sixteen days at PPTH in the Collar Redux universe: the story starts where "Seven Stages" leaves off, and you probably need to read that first. This story is set in a universe where there are slaves, and Greg House is one of them. It's fairly dark, there is abuse, discipline, dubcon, noncon, etc, etc, etc. Don't like, don't read.

Day Zero

1. Overseer

The name on the purchase order for the new slave is Doctor Lisa Cuddy, the senior administrator who seems likely to become the Dean when Doctor Alexander retires.

Doris Foster had been slave overseer at PPTH for nearly fifteen years. She'd never seen a purchase order come through like this one, except when - occasionally - very senior staff had bought personal slaves via the hospital. Usually when a slave was sold or purchased, Doris was aware well before the slave was removed from or delivered to the hospital. She tried to call Doctor Cuddy but she was away from her desk.

There was a standard process for all new slaves to go through. Doris decided, looking at the huddled slave in the transport van, that she would simply follow it exactly. Whatever Doctor Cuddy's plans for this slave, there couldn't be an objection to that.

There was room for four cages in the van, each one big enough for an adult slave to sit upright in or curl up in, but the escorting guard left himself more room by only setting up the one cage. The slave was barefoot, wearing t-shirt and jeans, neither of them new or fitting him all that well. The clothes would be incinerated anyway as part of the standard routine.

"Get him out of the cage," Doris said. The door was open, but the slave wasn't moving: he was sitting in a shivering huddle. At least one reason for this was apparent as soon as the guard heaved him out and got him upright: the slave had wet his pants. "Didn't you think to give him a bathroom break?" Doris demanded, annoyed.

"What difference does it make, you're going to burn those clothes anyway," the guard said, defensively annoyed. "Anyway, he didn't ask for one."

"What's he called?" The purchase order didn't include any identification for the slave other than the ID code.

"George," the guard said. "Greg. Something like that."

The slave's head twitched up a bit when the guard said "Greg," so when Doris clipped the leash on to his collar she said "Come, Greg," and he followed briskly. He was extremely tall, which probably explained the ill-fitting clothes, but not the lack of shoes.

All the clothes a new slave arrived in are incinerated: slaves are shaved bald all over to get rid of any parasites and scrubbed with anti-bacterial soap: blood, urine, stool, and semen samples taken to check for any infections or parasites: fitted for new clothing: if they need any special items or clothing for work that should be confirmed with their supervisor and the acquisitions order made. Until the tests come back negative, a new slave will be housed in one of the quarantine cells, in a part of the hospital separate from slave quarters and wards. Doris Foster is proud of the fact that the slave dorms at PPTH have never been the source of an epidemic.

Doris took the new slave to the tiny room they used as admissions for slaves: it was a storeroom, but there was space to have an exam table set up and fixed, so that a slave could be manacled to it if unruly. Greg seemed docile.

"You can use that bathroom," Doris said. It was a cubicle without a lockable door. "I need a urine sample and a stool sample. Do you understand? Pee in one container, shit in the other?"

"Yes, ma'am," the slave said after a moment, in a small hoarse voice, and he seemed to; Doris handed him the two sample jars, one after the other, and he gave her them back with samples, sealed. Doris had called a nurse to get the blood sample, and he arrived in good time: John Collins, one of the nurses assigned in a regular rota to do slave admissions.

The slave stripped when she told him to, and put his clothes in a paper sack she handed him. Under his clothes, he was already as thoroughly shaved as she herself would have done him. He sat down on the exam table, put his arms out where they could be manacled, and held still for the blood draw.

"Semen sample," Doris said. The slave had been cooperative about the urine and stool samples. She handed him the container. He took it, and his other hand went to his penis. Doris was about to tell him to go into the shower cubicle, but he didn't touch himself: he sat there frozen, his mouth slightly open, his hands wavering.

Collins sighed with exasperation, and - he was still gloved up for the blood draw - took the container away from the slave and, manipulating his genitals one-handed, got the semen sample, neatly without spilling. "They get like this sometimes," he told Doris authoritatively. "When they've been taught not to touch themselves. Guess he's a personal slave? Who's he for?"

"Doctor Cuddy bought him," Doris said, shortly. She'd worked with slaves when this young man was in grade school, she found it exasperating to be lectured by him. "Now, boy, off the table, into the shower, clean yourself up."

The shower was another cubicle, clear-walled, next to the sanitation unit, supplied with hot water and anti-bacterial soap. When the slave was in the shower, Doris switched on the hot water and watched: he did a commendably thorough job of cleaning himself, some slaves needed to be caned for slackness. Collins packed up the samples and left to deliver them to the lab.

"Kneel down," Doris instructed him, after she'd switched the water off. "Hands on the floor."

He had so little hair left it was simple enough to get rid of it with an electric razor. He was shivering, though it wasn't chilly in the basement. She got him to wipe up the fallen hair and put it in the paper sack with the jeans and t-shirt, then spray down the surfaces of the shower, table, and toilet cubicle. He had stopped shivering by the time he had done these little jobs. "Good boy," she praised him, and clipped the leash to his collar. She had him stand on the foot measuring board, and put his back to the board that gave standard sizes of clothing, and took a note of his sizes, before leading him off to the cells.

There were three quarantine cells, which were just three tiled windowless cubes each about the size of a large closet - six feet by six feet by six feet, with a low toilet in the corner. They were near the furnaces - Doris had the slave drop the paper sack into the waste container for incineration as they passed - and isolated from every human part of the building. Doris unclipped the leash and ordered him into one. She would have to tell the labs to rush the tests, she thought, closing the door: at his height, he wouldn't be able to lie down in the quarantine cell, so it would be better not to have to keep him there overnight.

*House*MD*House*MD*House*MD*House*

2. Supervisor

After three urgent meetings and a business lunch, Cuddy found time to listen to the message from Doris Foster on her answering machine. Greg was safely bought and delivered, she didn't really care what the overseer did with him so long she produced him safe and well for tomorrow.

But she did call Foster as soon as she had the time. Foster did all the purchasing for slaves, and Cuddy had a special set of requirements for Greg.

"He's in quarantine," Foster said briskly. "I asked the labs to expedite the tests - "

"Excellent," Cuddy agreed at once. "Give me the job number, I'll make sure they do." Medical tests for slaves tend to go to the back of any line, and it would be stupid to have Greg stuck in quarantine for this. "I want to see him in my office tomorrow morning at 10:30."

"Of course," Foster said. She sounded a little odd.

"I sent you a memo with a list of clothing requirements, can you confirm you'll be able to purchase them all for the department by next week?"

Greg will need two labcoats, enough rolltops that he can wear one daily, at least one good pair of shoes to wear in the free clinic.

"Yes, I got your memo," Foster said, very carefully. "I just want to be sure I'm not misunderstanding. If this new slave wears a rolltop, people won't be able to see his collar."

"He'll be working in the free clinic, and seeing and treating patients," Cuddy explained. "I've applied to have his medical license reactivated. It will be easier to hide his collar slightly from the people he treats than to explain to every one of them that he's a fully qualified doctor, owned by this hospital."

There was a small silence at the other end of the phone. Foster sounded as if she was on autopilot when she spoke next. "I can bring him up at half past ten," she said. "But he won't have clothes or shoes that fit properly till Monday at earliest."

"That's not important," Cuddy said. She wanted to reassure Foster, who had a good reputation for handling slaves. "He won't be able to start seeing patients till we get his medical licence re-activated, and that won't happen for ten working days." Counting from tomorrow - they'll get the application today. "But I want him working in the Diagnostics department right away."

"We don't have a diagnostics department," Foster said. She still sounded rather stunned.

"Well, we do now," Cuddy said. Actually, it wasn't quite as foregone a conclusion as that: she had got Board commitment to start a Diagnostics department, just as she had Board commitment for expanding the free clinic, but both were conditional on success, and she's tied them both pretty firmly to her belief that Greg House, even as a slave, had the capacity to be the best doctor who's ever worked at this hospital. If she's wrong - if Greg can't function as a doctor, if people refuse to be treated by a slave - then she may have to have him sold and hope to recoup what they paid for him.

"He's a doctor?" Foster repeated.

Cuddy suppressed an audible sigh and used the analogy she had used with the Board: "Think of him as medical equipment. He's a slave, but he has a medical degree. That gives him functionality that the hospital can employ when we get it reactivated, but he's still just a slave. We can work him how we like."

She put the phone down after a few more reassuring words. She hoped that Foster's reaction wasn't going to be typical. It was important for her future career, and for the future of PPTH, that her purchase of Greg proved a success.

*House*MD*House*MD*House*MD*House*

3. Overseer

All the tests came back negative just before five, so the new slave could get out of quarantine. When she opened the door the slave was kneeling in the cell: he didn't look as if he'd moved since she left him there. Normally Doris Foster would say something reassuring, something positive about the slave's good health and how he should work hard and behave well, but she was still completely shaken up by his being a doctor. Could you have a doctor that's a slave? Would he be treating the hospital slaves?

In the hall outside, Doris handed him a pair of jeans, a bag of underwear and socks, a pair of flip-flop sandals from the hospital gift shop which were all that could be found in his size, and two t-shirts, and told him to get dressed.

He didn't seem to think of putting on underwear, so she she had to stop him and read him a little lecture on proper standards for slaves owned by PPTH: always clean and properly dressed at all times. He's to wash thoroughly and put on t-shirt, underwear, and socks, every day. There will be inspections, and if he's not clean and properly dressed, he will be punished. This was such a routine speech that it wasn't till she was done and he was dressing, that it occurred to her to think again: he's a doctor?

She walked him in silence to the dorm where there was a spare bunk, and told him to put the clothes he wasn't wearing in the locker by the bunk. She told one of the other slaves, Jon, who had the next bunk, to show the new slave where to collect a towel for his shower this evening, and to take him to the slave canteen for the evening meal in half an hour. Jon worked for Sanitation, and Doris decided there was no point in letting this slave sit around idly half the morning - she wouldn't let any other slave's time be wasted, she can't treat this one differently: she instructed Jon to take the new boy with him in the morning and tell Mr Smith to put him to work.

Doris planned to send Mike Smith a memo to explain she needed the new boy, clean and tidy, in her office by 10:15 to take him up to see Doctor Cuddy at 10:30 - there's no point giving slaves elaborate explanations to deliver. But she did a quick inspection of the lockers, based on a half-formed suspicion, and found half a chocolate bar hidden in Danny's. He used to be in personal service before he was bought by PPTH, and she'd caught him defying the rule about no food in the lockers before: he liked treats, and when someone gave him a treat, he saved it.

So Danny got bent over his bunk, his jeans and underwear pulled down, and Doris sent Jon for one of her light canes. She administered six strokes - she liked caning because the pain was precise and easy to control, you don't hurt the slave either more or less than intended. Tonight and for the next week, Danny will get only a standard ration bowl of pellets to eat at his meals. Danny cries easily, his last owner probably found it endearing. Doris did not. She prodded his shoulder with her cane.

"Pick that up," she pointed to the chocolate bar she'd dropped on the floor, "and go throw it out."

Danny stammered out an apology and thanks, of sorts, and stumbled off to obey. Doris gave a last glance at the new slave, lying flat on his bunk, hands by his sides, staring up at the ceiling. He really didn't look like a doctor, though she had no idea what a slave doctor would look like.

*House*MD*House*MD*House*MD*House*

4. Jon

Every slave in the dorm, except maybe Danny, recognised the new guy as fresh out of processing and education. Jon was lying flat out on his bunk when Mrs Foster came in with the new guy. Mrs Foster's rule for the dorms was that a slave who was resting could stay at rest unless directly spoken to, so none of them got up: but all of them (except Danny, who glanced briefly at his locker, stupid kid) were keeping their eyes on her, and on the new slave next to her.

Jon slid off the bunk and on to his knees when Mrs Foster pointed the new slave to put his clothes in the empty locker next to the empty bunk, so he was ready when Mrs Foster looked at him.

Once the new slave had put his clothes away, he dropped to his knees beside the bunk, and folded his hands behind his back. He was waiting to be told what to do. But Mrs Foster had discovered Danny's hidden chocolate, and sent Jon for one of her canes: Jon ran.

Danny had been sold, so he said, when he was twelve. He'd been owned by a wealthy family, bought to be the plaything/companion of their only son. The age at which he'd been sold varied, and the reasons Danny gave why the family had sold him on to PPTH also varied, but he probably had been a rich boy's personal slave. Jon had never been anyone's personal slave, never even tagged, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to be.

Danny was positioned over the bunk, ass bared. Jon handed Mrs Foster her cane with a little bow and went back to his bunk. The new slave was still kneeling, quite still. Mrs Foster was concentrating on Danny. Jon touched his shoulder and pointed at his bunk: Mrs Foster would expect to see him lying down. She probably wouldn't do anything to him if he wasn't, she'd just tell him to lie down, but if he was where she expected him to be she probably wouldn't think about him at all. Jon lay down on his bunk.

The new slave had startled when Jon touched him. He didn't seem to have seen anything, he hadn't moved an inch. His eyes crept sideways, looking at Jon, looking at the other slaves on this side of the room also lying on their bunks. After a long moment - Mrs Foster had delivered one stroke of the cane, and Danny had already started to sob - the slave moved from kneeling by his bunk to lying on it, very quickly and gracefully and silently. Then he lay still, hands by his sides, and didn't move.

The signal for their dorm to go to the canteen drilled sharply through the silence - and Jon got up quickly and tapped the new slave on his leg. He twitched all over and didn't say anything - he was making Jon feel uncomfortable, bringing back stuff he hadn't ever wanted to think about again - but as the others were filing briskly out, he got up and fell into line with them.

It was another vegetable traybake evening, which was okay when the canteen put enough cheese on, and sometimes there was meat in each portion. There was rice too, and an apple each. Danny got weepy again about his bowlful of pellets. Jon picked up a spoon, saw the new slave hadn't, and picked up one for him too, putting it into his bowl. They were allowed to talk in the canteen - anything they didn't mind the canteen supervisor overhearing - but the first few minutes, when everyone was eating hot food, was always quiet. There was meat in the traybake - the scraps were a bit chewy and dry, but good. Jon glanced at the new slave's bowl - he was sitting with his hands down and eyes down, and the spoon was still wedged in the portion of traybake, where Jon had stuck it. Jon nudged him.

"Come on. Eat."

The slave's right hand sort of fumbled up to touch the bowl. It looked as if he was going to stick his fingers into it. Jon jerked the spoon he was eating with at the slave. "Eat with the spoon, boy."

Across the table Kev grinned. "Hand feed him, why don't you - boy?"

Someone else further down called "Boy, I'll eat it if he doesn't want it!"

"Hey Danny, give Jon's boy your food, he'll eat it!"

Jon shook his head. They had fifteen or twenty minutes left for the meal, and Jon was going to have to deal with this guy for as long as he was assigned to Sanitation: it was okay for the others to make stupid jokes, but someone had to make the new slave eat. They'd all been through it, aside from Danny, they all knew why he wasn't touching the food. "Come on, boy, eat it. We all are." He took a spoonful of rice and vegetable from his own bowl, put it into his mouth, chewed open-mouthed at the other guy, and swallowed. "It's good, eat it."

In a fumbling, awkward kind of way, the new guy ate his food with his spoon. He got the bowl clear. Jon picked up his own apple, picked up the one for the slave, and literally wrapped the new guy's hand round it before he lifted his own apple to his mouth and took a bite. After a moment, the new guy imitated him.

"What's your name?" Jon asked, when he'd got the apple eaten nearly to the core. The new guy was having trouble with his apple: he was making heavy work of biting and chewing.

He was startled to get back only a completely impassive, walled-off look: they'd just shared a meal, the new guy must know they were allowed to talk in here.

"I'm Jon. What's your name?"

The new guy took another struggling bite of his apple. They were almost at the end of meal time: any minute now the signal was going to ring and any unfinished food would have to be left. Jon took the remains of the apple away and bit into it himself: no sense letting it go to waste. "Hey, we're going to work together. What's your name?"

No answer. The new guy only stared at him. The signal went and they all got up, the new guy only a fraction behind. Jon had almost finished the second apple. They had ninety minutes now before they had to be in bed, and there was stuff Jon wanted to do, but he didn't want to do it with new guy in tow. He took the new guy back to the dorm and pointed out the showers on the way, and the laundry window where you got a towel. The dorm had its own toilet, and there was a tap with drinking water, and he pointed those out too, with the new guy staring at him with that cold impassive look and not saying anything.

Smith had a quick hand for any slave he thought he was being insolent: Jon figured the new guy would learn fast enough that playing dumb wasn't going to get him anywhere.

tbc... tomorrow!

As with "Seven Stages", there's a parallel story told by Tailkinker: we'll be posting a chapter a day (each chapter covering a day). I'll go first, Tailkinker will follow. The story is finished, and between the two of us, it's over 140,000 words long!