Damon sat on the soft chair, his hand sliding down his face as he let out a deep sigh.
He didn't like the smell of medicine that filled the air, or whatever it was that this place smelled like.
He was currently in the medical center, surrounded by other fighters, all waiting for their turn to get their medical examination. Damon had been waiting for almost a day, and he wasn't alone.
Others had arrived after him, and the line seemed to be moving at a slow pace. The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting a hum of electricity through the air.
The sound of murmured conversations and rustling papers filled the room, creating a sense of monotony.
Damon's eyes wandered around the room, taking in the sights and sounds.
He noticed the other fighters, some looking focused, others looking anxious. He saw the medical staff, moving efficiently, taking notes and checking vitals.
Damon's gaze fell on the clock on the wall, the hands ticking away slowly. He had been waiting for what felt like an eternity.
He shifted in his seat, feeling the soft cushion beneath him. His hand drummed a slow rhythm on his thigh, a sign of his growing impatience.
He stood up, stretching his arms above his head, trying to shake off the feeling of restlessness.
He walked over to the water cooler, pouring himself a cup of cool water. The liquid refreshed his parched throat, and he felt a slight sense of relief.
As he poured another cup of water and drank, the door to the examination room opened, and a very muscular man walked out.
His physique was imposing, with thick, prominent veins and a slightly crooked nose, as if it had been broken before.
One of the fighters sitting down couldn't help but stare at him, and whispered to the others, "Guess he's not passing the exam." The whisper was quiet, but due to the silence in the room, it sounded like regular talking.
The others chuckled and snickered, but when the large man looked at them, they quickly went quiet.
His gaze was intense, and they didn't want to draw any more attention to themselves.
The large man mumbled, "That's what I thought," and left the medical center, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room.
The sound of the door closing behind him was loud, and it broke the silence that had fallen over the room.
Damon shook his head, watching the scene unfold. He was still sipping his water, feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat.
He was lost in thought, wondering what had just happened.
Suddenly, he heard his name being called. "Damon Cross," the voice said, but he didn't hear it at first. He was too caught up in the moment, too distracted by the commotion that had just occurred.
The voice called out again, a little louder this time, "Damon Cross," but he still didn't respond. He was too busy watching the door, wondering what would happen next.
It wasn't until one of the other fighters nudged him that he realized his name was being called. "Hey, isn't that you?" the fighter asked, nodding towards the examination room.
Damon looked up, startled, and then stood up, smoothing out his clothes. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come.
He walked through the examination door, his feet making a soft sound on the floor.
He had checked his system interface before coming here, and his health was top tier - healthy, even more so due to his recent change of diet.
He used to survive on meager bananas and bread, but now he ate real food, and his weight had increased as a result. Despite his improved health, he still felt nervous.
As he entered the room, he saw a woman in a white robe, with a blouse underneath. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, and she looked professional. He spoke up, greeting her with a polite "Good afternoon."
The lady looked up from the papers she was reading and sat down in her chair. "Good afternoon, Mr. Cross," she replied. "Please, take a seat, and I'll ask you some questions before we begin the exam."
He looked around the room, taking in the various machines that lined the walls. There were large machines that looked like they belonged in a hospital, and smaller ones that he didn't recognize.
The room itself was large, with a divide section - one part was an office, with a desk and chairs, and the other part was filled with machines.
He walked over to the chair she had indicated and sat down, trying to make himself comfortable. The chair was soft and cushioned, and he felt a little more at ease.
The woman, who he assumed was the doctor, smiled at him and began to ask her questions. "Can you please tell me about your medical history, Mr. Cross?" she asked, her pen poised over her notebook.
He took a deep breath and began to answer, telling her about his past injuries and illnesses. He spoke clearly and concisely, trying to remember every detail.
As he spoke, he couldn't help but notice the machines in the room.
There was a large machine that looked like an MRI scanner, and a smaller one that looked like a blood pressure monitor. He wondered what they would be used for during the exam.
The doctor listened attentively, nodding her head and making notes on her pad. When he finished speaking, she smiled and said, "Thank you, Mr. Cross. Now, let's begin the exam."
He answered honestly, not hiding the fact that he had once been malnourished. He told her about his past struggles with food, and how he had often gone hungry. He spoke clearly and concisely, trying to remember every detail.
Once they finished the questioning, they moved on to the machines. They went through different scans, and tests, and Damon couldn't see a change in expression from the doctor.
This made him nervous, because if she was smiling, he could have thought the test results were good, but if she frowned, the test results were bad.
But there were no reactions, and because of that, he didn't know what to think.
They did a series of tests, each one designed to measure a different aspect of his health.
They took his blood pressure, and checked his heart rate. They did a blood test, and an EKG. Damon didn't know what to expect, but he tried to stay calm.
When they were done with the physical tests, they sat down again. The doctor looked at him, and finally smiled. "Okay, everything looks good on your physical condition," she said. "We'll go ahead and do the blood tests and EKGs, and you'll get your results next week, if not earlier."
Damon felt a wave of relief wash over him. He stood up, and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you," he said, smiling back at her. He felt a sense of gratitude towards her, for being so professional, and for helping him.
As he left the examination room, he felt a sense of hope. He hoped that his test results would be good, and that he would be able to move on with his life.
He hoped that he would be able to achieve his goals, and live a healthy and happy life.