“Come in,” a voice calls from inside, warm and casual.

She pushes the door open and steps into the office.

The room smells faintly like tea and hand sanitizer. There’s a couch along one wall, a low coffee table covered in pamphlets about civic responsibility and transition support, and a desk cluttered with folders and a computer that looks like it’s been running all day.

The counselor looks up immediately.

She’s middle-aged, soft-voiced, the kind of person who always seems to be smiling even when nothing funny is happening.

“Well hello there,” she says, pushing her chair back slightly. “You must be Riley.”

Riley nods once.

The counselor’s eyes flick down to Riley’s wrist just long enough to confirm the red glow before returning to her face.

“Alright,” she says gently. “Why don’t you come sit down for me.”

Riley walks across the room and lowers herself onto the couch. The cushion sinks a little under her weight, and the pouch strap shifts on her shoulder as she settles.

The counselor doesn’t sit behind the desk. Instead she drags a chair around so they’re facing each other directly.

“That’s better,” she says. “I’m Mrs. Hargreaves.”

Riley nods again.

Mrs. Hargreaves folds her hands together loosely.

“First things first, I want you to know you did the right thing coming here right away. Some students panic after their watch changes and try to hide somewhere in the building. It never works and it just makes the day harder for them.”

“I wasn’t gonna run,” Riley mutters.

“I didn’t think you would,” the counselor replies, her tone approving.

She glances at a tablet resting on the table beside her and taps the screen once.

“Now, the first thing I need to do is ask you a few questions. Nothing scary, I promise. We just make sure everyone is stable and understands what happens next.”

Riley shifts slightly on the couch.

“Okay.”

“Good girl,” Mrs. Hargreaves says.

She looks back at Riley.

“How are you feeling right now?”

Riley shrugs.

“Fine, I guess.”

The counselor smiles a little.

“Most students say that,” she replies. “Usually what they mean is something closer to confused, scared, embarrassed, and hungry all at the same time.”

Riley snorts quietly.

“Yeah… that sounds about right.”

“Good,” the counselor says, like that answer was reassuring.

She taps the tablet again.

“Are you experiencing any dizziness? Nausea? Trouble breathing?”

“No.”

“Any thoughts about hurting yourself or refusing to report?”

Riley blinks.

“No.”

“Good,” Mrs. Hargreaves repeats.

She leans back slightly.

“Now let’s talk about your seven days.”

Riley’s stomach tightens a little at that.

“Seven days,” she repeats.

“That’s right,” the counselor says. “You have one week before you report to a Processing Center. During that time you’re allowed to go home, visit family, see friends, eat whatever you want,
and generally put your affairs in order.”

Riley stares at the carpet.

“That’s weird to hear.”

“It always is,” Mrs. Hargreaves says calmly.

She studies Riley’s face for a moment.

“Did your teacher explain your legal status change?”

“She said I’m an Animal now.”

“That’s correct,” the counselor says without hesitation. “Your civic personhood is suspended. That means you’re no longer subject to school rules or standard student authority, which is why you’re here instead of in class.”

Riley picks at a loose thread on the couch.

“So I’m expelled.”

The counselor smiles again. “No dear. You’ve simply moved into a different category.”

Riley huffs quietly. “That sounds like expulsion with extra steps.”

Mrs. Hargreaves chuckles at that.

“You’re handling this remarkably well,” she says. She scrolls something on the tablet. “Next question. Have you told your parents yet?”

“No,” Riley says. “It just happened.”

“They’ll be notified automatically within the hour,” the counselor explains. “Most families appreciate a phone call first though, so if you want to contact them you’re welcome to.”

Riley shakes her head.

“I’ll just walk home later.”

“That’s perfectly fine.”

The counselor pauses before continuing.

“Do you understand that you must report to a Processing Center before the seven day timer on your watch expires?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Failure to report has very serious consequences for families.”

Riley nods slowly.

Mrs. Hargreaves softens her voice again.

“But we’re not going to focus on that right now. The purpose of this meeting is simply to help you settle down and make sure you understand what the next few hours look like.”

Riley looks up slightly.

“Next few hours?”

“Yes,” the counselor says.

She stands up and walks over to a cabinet along the wall.

“The school nurse will perform a brief assessment and hygiene check before you leave campus.
It’s standard procedure for newly converted students.”

She takes a clipboard from the cabinet and writes something on it.

“After that you’ll be free to go home.”

Riley shifts again on the couch.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Mrs. Hargreaves replies.

She hands Riley the clipboard.

“Take this to the nurse’s office. She’s expecting you.”

The counselor opens the office door and gestures down the hallway.

“You’re doing very well so far, Riley. Just keep taking things one step at a time.”

Riley grips the clipboard and nods once before stepping out into the hall, heading toward the nurse’s office for the next part of the process.

Riley knocks on the nurse’s door with the clipboard tucked awkwardly against her side.

“Come in,” a voice answers.

She pushes the door open and steps inside.

The nurse’s office is brighter than the counselor’s room, lit by a long row of fluorescent lights that make everything look clean and slightly too white. Cabinets line the back wall, a medical bed sits near the window, and a sink takes up one corner beside a metal tray of supplies.

The nurse glances up from her desk.

She’s older, probably in her fifties, with reading glasses perched low on her nose and a pen tucked behind one ear.

“Ah,” she says calmly. “You must be Riley.”

Riley nods and holds out the clipboard.

The nurse takes it, scans the page quickly, then sets it aside.

“Alright,” she says, standing up. “Let’s get you sorted.”

Her tone is brisk but not unfriendly, the same practical voice someone might use when dealing with a scraped knee or a headache.

“First thing,” she continues, gesturing toward the examination bed. “Hop up there for me.”

Riley climbs onto it, the paper sheet crinkling loudly beneath her as she sits.

The nurse pulls on a pair of disposable gloves and glances down at a tablet mounted on the wall.

“This is just a standard intake check,” she explains. “We confirm you’re healthy, check for injuries, make sure there’s no signs of abuse or untreated illness. After that we do a hygiene check and you’ll be free to leave campus.”

Riley swallows.

“Okay.”

The nurse taps the screen.

“Any dizziness?”

“No.”

“Chest pain?”

“No.”

“Trouble breathing?”

“No.”

“Any recent injuries I should know about?”

Riley shakes her head.

“No.”

“Good,” the nurse says.

She moves closer and begins a quick visual check, lifting Riley’s arm slightly to examine the skin along it before repeating the motion with the other side.
Her hands are efficient and clinical, moving through the routine with practiced ease.

“Turn a little for me,” she says.

Riley shifts the way she’s told while the nurse checks for bruises or marks along her shoulders and back.

“No swelling,” the nurse murmurs to herself. “No lacerations.”

She straightens again.

“Good so far.”

Next she reaches for a small flashlight.

“Open your mouth.”

Riley does.

The nurse shines the light briefly inside, checking her teeth and gums.

“Say ‘ah.’”

“Ah.”

The nurse peers inside for another moment before switching the light off.

“Teeth look fine. No infection.”

She steps back and removes the gloves, dropping them into a small disposal bin.

“Alright,” she says. “You pass.”

Riley exhales quietly.

“Next part is hygiene.”

The nurse gestures toward the sink in the corner.

A folded cloth and a bottle of sanitizer sit beside it.

“Go ahead and step over there,” she says. “You’ll clean yourself using the cloth and sanitizer.”

Riley hesitates for a second.

The nurse notices.

“Just so we’re clear,” she adds matter-of-factly, “refusal means I perform the sanitation myself. Most students prefer to handle it privately.”

Riley nods quickly.

“Yeah… I’ll do it.”

She walks over to the sink and picks up the cloth. The sanitizer smells sharp and medicinal as she pours some onto the fabric.

She begins by cleaning between her legs, aware of the glistening sheen that had begun to build up since she stripped naked. She knew it was involuntary, it was just what Animals did, but it didn’t make it any less humiliating.

When she ran the cloth over her chest, accidentally brushing her nipples, she flinched. Transition Week hadn’t been anything like this. Nothing could prepare her for a true conversion. The lack of privacy, the denial of modesty.

She shook her head. She was an Animal now.

Animals aren’t modest.

“Finished,” she says.

The nurse steps over, checking briefly to make sure the procedure was done.

“Good,” she replies.

She taps a final note into the tablet and nods once.

“That’s everything.”

Riley shifts the pouch strap on her shoulder.

“So… I can go?”

“Yes,” the nurse says.

She gestures toward the door.

“You’re cleared to leave campus.”

Riley heads for the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her as she steps back into the corridor with nothing left tying her to the school.

Riley walks down the hallway with the small pouch resting against her hip, the strap sliding slightly on her shoulder with every step. The corridor is still mostly empty, the classrooms sealed behind closed doors while the draw period finishes across the school.

Halfway to the exit she sees another student coming the other direction.

He’s about her age, maybe a year older, and just like her he’s completely bare except for the red glow of the watch on his wrist. His shoulders are tense in the way people get when they don’t know where to look or what to do with themselves.

He notices her at the same moment.

For a second they both slow down.

Then Riley gives him a small smile.

It’s not a big one, just enough to acknowledge what they suddenly have in common.

The boy smiles back.

They pass each other without speaking, heading in opposite directions down the hallway while the quiet of the building swallows the moment almost immediately.

Riley continues toward the front doors.

When she pushes them open the outside air hits her all at once.

The cold makes her gasp before she can stop it, the sudden rush of wind across her skin sending a shiver through her whole body. She stands there for a second on the steps, breathing in the sharp autumn air while the pouch bumps lightly against her side.

Just this morning she had been tugging her skirt down every time the wind caught it.

Now she’s standing in the schoolyard with nothing at all.

The building behind her hums with the normal sounds of the day continuing, teachers talking, chairs moving, the distant echo of another bell somewhere inside. In a little while recess will start and the other kids will pour outside like they always do, running across the yard and complaining about homework and talking about whatever stupid thing someone posted online the night before.

The week will keep moving.

Classes will happen.

Assignments will be handed out.

Everyone will try to forget the students who aren’t coming back.