A/N : This is Greg's point of view of his first sixteen days as a slave at PPTH, it runs in parallel with Oflymonndreams Sixteen Days. This story follows on directly from Seven Stages which tells the story of how Greg became a slave and should be read first.

If you've read that story and the rest of the Collarverse stories you shouldn't need any warnings:) This is a dark universe with dark themes, there is noncon, physical, emotional and mental abuse, slave situations etc etc.

Thanks to illumin for a beta read of both versions of the story and thanks as always to Oflymonddreams for creating this universe and letting me play in it as well :)

If you're enjoying the story, and would like to see more in the Collarverse, your reviews/suggestions/discussions are always welcome.

DAY ZERO - Thursday

They've only been in the van a short while when it comes to a halt. Greg looks out the little window and sees that they are at an airport, parked outside departures. Doctor Cuddy says a few words to the guard sitting in the front of the van and gets out, walking into the airport without a backwards look. Greg is puzzled, he thought that Cuddy must work for PPTH and had bought him, but now she has left him with the two guards and they are driving off. Maybe she was just buying him on behalf of someone else. He has no way of knowing, he can't ask the guard because slaves don't speak unless they are spoken to. Maybe PPTH doesn't mean what he thinks it does, maybe he's headed for another training facility. He feels utterly helpless, he has absolutely no control over where he goes and what he does. He thought getting out of the Center would be freedom but now realizes that there is no freedom for him, no safety.

He stares out the window at the free world, and is looking at a large plane coming in to land when the guard in the back with him speaks up.

"What's the matter, boy? Haven't you ever seen an airplane before?"

He immediately lowers his eyes to the floor. His father was a fighter pilot and he grew up on bases around the world and has sat in the cockpit of many different jets, but he can't say that.

"Well, boy? I asked you a question," the guard snaps, his hand going to the baton on his hip.

"Yes sir, I've seen an airplane before," he answers, his voice hoarse from disuse, he's barely said a handful of words in the last few weeks.

"Then keep your eyes where they belong and stop staring out the window like a Goddamn tourist."

"Yes sir, this slave is sorry, sir."

The guard just grunts and goes back to the newspaper he is reading.

Greg kneels in the cage and looks at the floor.

They drive for a long time and don't stop for a break. It's been hours since Greg was last taken to the bathroom and he feels a desperate need to urinate. At the Center the slaves are regularly taken in groups to the toilet, the male slaves lined up at a long urinal in the open air, they are not permitted to go at other times. There are squat toilets they use for their other business, and they must use those when ordered. Any failure to use the squat toilet at an appropriate time is met with a forced enema. The slaves quickly learn to adapt to this routine.

Greg isn't sure what to do. He's not allowed to speak unless spoken to and although he shifts around a bit in his cage, trying to get the guard's attention, the guard keeps reading his paper and ignores him. He's terrified that this is another test and if he breaks silence he will have failed it.

He tries to hold on but to his shame he feels a small trickle of urine escape him and wet his jeans. He glances up quickly but the guard hasn't noticed. He bites down on his lip and concentrates on stopping any further release.

Shortly after that they pull off the main road and the van is driven around to the back entrance of a large building. Greg has been staring at the floor of his cage as ordered so he doesn't know what building it is, whether it is PPTH or not.

The guard opens the door to his cage and both guards lean by the back door of the van, chatting to each other. They don't talk to him and they don't tell him to get out of the cage so he huddles there, feeling miserable.

An older lady appears, talking sharply to the guards and telling them to get him out of the cage. They haul him out, and he knows that they can all see that he was wet himself. He stares at the ground as the woman tells the guards off for not giving him a bathroom break. They are talking about him as if he's not there and can't understand them. The woman asks the guard his name and when the guard says 'Greg' he jerks his head to look at him before immediately dropping his gaze to the ground again.

He feels a pull on his collar as the woman clips a leash onto it and gives its a small tug, jerking his head up.

"Greg, you will not piss your pants again. This is a hospital, not a farm. If you need something like that you ask permission to talk and then ask for it. No-one will punish you for talking if you are respectful."

"Yes ma'am," he says when she pauses, apparently expecting an answer. His mind latches on to the word 'hospital', he is hopeful now.

"Come, Greg."

He follows behind her obediently, walking on the leash as he has been taught, head down respectfully. He steals little glances as they walk along. They are in what looks to be a loading bay and there are boxes of supplies lying around, this must be the goods entrance to the building. The boxes are labeled and he realizes that he is indeed in Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. He is being brought through the loading bay, just like any other purchase of the hospital.

He is relieved. Even if Doctor Cuddy won't be here at least he's in a hospital. It was a long drive from the Center, several hours at least, so it is likely that he won't meet any of his former colleagues here. He despised most of them anyway but he still wouldn't want them to see Greg, the slave.

They walk down a hallway and down a few steps to a lower level, finally entering a small room which has an examination table set up, with manacles hanging off the side.

The lady unclips his leash and says her name is Mrs Foster, she is the slave overseer for the hospital.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies and she nods.

She hands him two sample jars,

"You can use that bathroom," she says, pointing to a door in the corner. "I need a urine sample and a stool sample. Do you understand? Pee in one container, shit in the other?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers.

It's not hard to produce the samples, he's been conditioned to do both on cue. The toilet with a door is a luxury, after months of attending to his bodily functions in public. He is as quick as he can be and hands both jars to Mrs Foster.

A male nurse has appeared and Greg strips off his clothing on command. He feels a tug of regret as they come off. He had liked having clothes on again.

He's told to get on the table and he puts his hands out next to the manacles so they can be secured. The nurse glances at Mrs Foster but she shakes her head and they don't restrain him. The nurse takes a blood sample, his gloved hands brisk and impersonal. Then Greg is given another sample jar.

"Semen sample." Mrs Foster instructs him and both she and the nurse stare at him, waiting.

He holds the container in one hand, places his other on his penis and then he hesitates. It isn't that he requires privacy, he's been well taught that he's no longer a person, no longer entitled to what he would have once regarded as basic human rights. He's also been told that his body is no longer his, he isn't supposed to touch himself seeking pleasure. He is torn between following the order and disobeying what he has been taught, his hand begins to shake on his penis.

The nurse doesn't let him hesitate long. He sighs and takes the container back off Greg and reaches for Greg's penis, stroking it until he is brought to a shuddering climax, tears forming in his eyes as the involuntary orgasm rips through him. The semen is collected neatly in the container and the nurse turns to Mrs Foster.

"They get like this sometimes. When they've been taught not to touch themselves. Guess he's a personal slave? Who's he for?"

"Doctor Cuddy bought him." She turns to him, "now, boy, off the table, into the shower, clean yourself up."

He latches onto the words "Doctor Cuddy bought him", so he was right initially, she had purchased him. He wonders briefly if he is to be a personal slave to her, he knows what that would mean. But she'd shown no interest in his sexual responsiveness back in the Center and surely if he was wanted for that purpose she would have checked that out thoroughly?

He hurries into the shower cubicle, the walls are clear so Mrs Foster can see him but she doesn't follow him in. She turns on hot water and directs him to clean himself. He scrubs enthusiastically, eager to try and rid himself of the smell and feel of his orgasm. The hot water is a pleasure after the cold hosing downs at the Center. He scrubs away at his skin until she turns off the water and approaches him with an electric razor in hand.

"Kneel down, hands on the floor," she orders.

Naked, and still dripping wet, he does so, hands by his side as she commands. She runs the razor over the stubbly hair on his head, shaving it off again. It is too much like being back at the Center while the groomers shave all the hair off his body and he begins to tremble anxiously.

She directs him to clean up his fallen hair and he does so, still on his hands and knees. He had hoped that he would be allowed to have hair on his head at least, other slaves he has seen have had hair but he knows it's not his choice. When he's collected all the hair he places it in the sack that holds his clothes and then he's given some cleaning materials and she gets him to clean the area, erasing any sign of his presence until all the surfaces are gleaming again. These simple physical tasks calm him somewhat and when he finishes he kneels quietly at her feet. She reaches down and clips the leash back on his collar.

"Good boy," she says, patting his head.

He hears her praise and despite himself feels a small glow of pleasure at the kind words. Since his arrival here, and for most of his stay at the Center, he's been treated as no more than a piece of furniture, unable to think or speak for himself. Her recognition of his accomplishment, however small it is, is a human connection that he has found himself missing. If he can do this correctly maybe he can have some function in this hospital, some reason for being.

She leads him back out to the exam room and measures his feet and body for clothing, making sounds of disapproval under her breath. His mother always used to complain about his height as well. He wonders if this means he will be getting some more clothes, and shoes. He hopes so.

Still naked, he's taken through the basement by Mrs Foster to a small cell. He goes in quietly and kneels down in the proper position. Then she leaves without another word.

He's not sure what he's supposed to do now, he's exhausted and he'd like to lie down and sleep. The cell isn't big enough for him to lie flat but he could curl up like he did in the cage where Ben and Ted put him at night. He wonders if this is where he will be kept.

He hasn't been told he can move so he keeps kneeling, eyes down, hands behind his back, knees slightly spread. He can't get into trouble for doing that.

Mrs Foster returns some hours later. She takes him out into the hall and gives him a bag full of clothing. He goes to slip the jeans on when she stops him and tells him sternly that he must wear underwear here and keep himself clean and tidy or he'll be punished. He nods silently, punishment he understands. He pulls on the underwear and then the jeans, the T-shirt he slips over his head. It's nice to be covered up again. He's given some flip-flops for his feet and it feels really strange to be wearing something on his feet again.

She leads him to a dorm room, he sees the beds are made up with a mattress, a sheet and a blanket, items he hasn't had access to in weeks. There is even a little locker by the bunk to put his spare clothes in. He does that and then kneels down quietly next to the bunk ready for further instruction. There are other slaves in the room and one of them, Jon, is told to take him to the slave canteen for dinner. He wonders if there will be the dog food pellets, or if there will be real food. He hopes there is some real food but he tries not to get too excited by the idea in case there isn't.

Apparently he is to work for the other slave's boss, a Mr Smith. He doesn't know what Jon does, or what sort of work he will be doing but he guesses he will find out tomorrow.

He is surprised by the appearance and demeanor of the other slaves. They remind him of the slaves he'd seen in his old hospital, quiet and respectful but not like the slaves back at the Center. These slaves have hair on their heads but also on their arms. They didn't get off their bunks when Mrs Foster came in, although Jon had done so when he'd been addressed. He wonders if any of them have been through one of the Centers and why they don't remember how to behave.

While Mrs Foster is there she does a search of the lockers and finds a hidden chocolate bar. The slave in question, Danny apparently, is ordered to drop his pants and kneel over a bunk, ass out. Mrs Foster hits him with a light cane, and the slave immediately starts crying.

Greg is watching, still kneeling by his bunk, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Jon points to the bunk, indicating Greg should lie in it. Greg stares back at him, unsure. He hadn't been ordered to do anything and he is terrified of doing anything wrong and failing another test. He looks around, all the other slaves are lying in their bunks so after a mental struggle he quickly slides onto his, lying still and staring at the ceiling while the cane swishes down another five times and Danny breaks into hysterical sobs.

Dad used to cane him, in much the same fashion. He was never allowed to cry though. If he'd made a fuss like Danny is doing he'd have been given another six strokes.

"It's for your own good boy," Dad used to say. "You'll thank me later."

He thinks Dad would like Mrs Foster.

It's not long after Mrs Foster leaves that a bell rings and the slaves begin to leave the room. Jon taps him on the leg and Greg twitches all over at the unexpected touch from another slave, eyes darting fearfully in case anyone is watching. Jon jerks his head towards the door and Greg gets the message, dinner time.

The canteen is a surprise, it's clean and there are benches and tables so the slaves don't have to eat on the floor. There is a serving station where they pick up hot food. Greg falls into line and takes a bowl of something that looks like mostly vegetables with some boiled rice on the side. He goes to sit down and is surprised when Jon sticks a spoon in his bowl. It's been weeks since he's eaten any food that needed utensils.

They all sit down and the slaves begin eating quietly, intent on their food. Greg waits for someone to tell him to eat, he's been trapped like this before. Jon nudges him and indicates the other slaves, telling him it's okay to eat.

He looks around and notices that the overseer behind the serving station is watching them idly. No-one is being yelled at for eating, so it's probably safe. He goes to put his fingers into his bowl when Jon points his own spoon at him.

"Eat with the spoon, boy."

He hesitantly picks it up and awkwardly spoons the food into his mouth. It's the sort of food he wouldn't have touched before, when he was free, but now it seems like the best thing he has ever eaten. There are some sort of meat scraps in it, which are hard to chew but taste good. Some of the slaves are talking now, making jokes about Jon encouraging him to eat. Danny is eating a bowl of the dog food pellets with his fingers, Greg shudders and looks away, he never wants to see them again.

He finishes the bowl of food and Jon wraps his hand around the apple that is on his plate. He takes a bite but he finds it hard to eat, he hasn't had to bite any of his food for a long time. He keeps nibbling at it but it's slow going and he can see Jon getting impatient with him.

Jon plucks the apple out of Greg's hand and eats it himself. Greg thinks he should be angry at his food being stolen but he can't feel anything.

When Jon asks him his name he freezes. His mind immediately goes back to the Center and the lady in the plush office.

"What is your name, boy?"

Lying there, chained and on a trolley, waiting to be taken back to processing.

"Anything you want it to be ma'am."

"I'm Jon. What's your name?" the slave asks again.

House, he longs to say, my name is House. I'm a Doctor, I'm not a slave. My name is House.

"Hey, we're going to work together. What's your name?" Jon is beginning to look annoyed, as he repeats his question.

Greg opens his mouth but freezes, just staring at Jon, he can't say the words.

Later, he lies on the bed in the dorm. Jon had shown him back here, pointing out the facilities and telling him there was an hour until showers and bed. Then he'd vanished and Greg was alone in the room. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to get on the bed or not, but remembered earlier the slaves had been lying down when Mrs Foster came in. Carefully he lies down on the bunk, still in his clothes, feeling a mattress beneath him, sheets and a blanket, and a pillow. He remembers sleeping last night in his cell, the bed little more than a shelf to lie on, no coverings of any kind. This is luxury.

He is still exhausted but cannot sleep, he is filled with anxiety for tomorrow. He still doesn't know what his function is here, how he will live as a slave. On the one hand he has untold luxuries he didn't have yesterday - bedding, real food, the ability to talk to other slaves if he wants to. Yet he knows he shouldn't be happy about this, he has lost so much more. He has lost his freedom, his career, the ability to decide how his life should proceed, as poor a job as he was doing of it. He thinks of the endless years stretching ahead of him, a collar around his neck, his life as a slave. Is this all he will ever have now?

After a while the other slaves start coming into the dorm. They strip their clothes off, folding them carefully and placing them in their lockers. Then they leave. Jon stops next to him.

"We get a shower now. Take your clothes off, put them away and go to the showers, hurry up, they don't like it if you're late."

He strips off and walks out of the room, down the hallway to the showers, collecting a towel from the laundry window on the way.

The shower is a large communal one, the slaves jostle for position under the nozzles. The water is warm and there are soap dispensers along the wall. As Greg showers he notices that there is a guard just inside the doorway, watching them. The slaves shower silently under his gaze.

The water switches off after a time, the slaves step out and dry themselves off. There is a rack of toothbrushes along one wall, and a long trough like sink. He goes over to the rack and sees that all the toothbrushes have a name on. He finds his next to Jon's.

He stands there for a moment, staring at the brush with his name on. He's been here less than a day and already he has his own labeled toothbrush, there's a certain finality to it.

He jumps as his ass is slapped.

"Stop staring at the toothbrush boy and use it, or I'll use it for you."

The guard is standing behind him, hand raised. He quickly finds the toothpaste dispenser and cleans his teeth.

Back at the dorm he gets in his bunk, burrowing underneath his blanket. It feels warm and comforting against his bare skin, another luxury he hasn't had for months. He snuggles into it, pulling it up around him and shutting out the world.

A security guard steps into the dorm and does a head count and then shuts the heavy door. Greg can hear the lock slipping into place. The light dims but does not go out.

Greg falls asleep and dreams of faceless people screaming at him. He wants to scream back but cannot, he has no voice.

Thanks for reading, if you are enjoying it I'd love to hear from you...