Within the building, Oscar faced a white-robed gentleman. Yes, the person was a doctor. He held in his hand a stethoscope and was attempting to listen to Oscars breathing.

"Yes," he stated, smilingly lightly, "You're as fit as an ox. Now all we need to do is take a blood sample."

In the moments where Oscar parted from his mother, he was escorted by a group of men in military atire. They wore dark green slacks, blue t-shirts, and dark green jackets. In the protected areas, they were called Rangers. These men all had high gene activity. Oscar, looking at these men, felt they were the heroes of his generation. He didn't hold back trying talking to him. Much to his dismay, they didn't talk that often. Most of the things they told him were commands.

Oscar was led to a room with steel enforced locks. He was sealed within the room. The walls were all white with grey cabinets. There was a single cot on the dominant wall, the wall one would see when entering the room, and a chair in the middle of the room. The chair was on wheels, capable of rolling everywhere in the room. In all honesty, the room was very simple.

He had to wait.

Time feels like hours when you're bored and alone. What was a few minutes seemed to stretch on infinitely for the young lad. He looked towards the door in expectation. His thoughts continuously paralleled with questions about the manner of tests he'd need to take.

In reality, the tests were nothing much. When the doctor entered the room he introduced himself. He called himself Doctor Ainar. He was simply a pediatrician. He helped children with their regular check ups. Disappointed with the bland occurence, Oscar went through the minutaea of the exam. He passed most forms of the physical with perfect attention.

Aside from a little dehydration, he was a perfectly healthy, robust, young man.

Easing a needle into someone's arm that's resisting isn't easy. Doctor Ainar had originally thought the procedure was going well. Unfortunately for him, Oscar was as preturbed by sharp, thin, points as much as the next regular child. He bucked, bit, and kicked his way away. Screaming for his mother, the child wouldn't calm down. Falling on his last resorts, Ainar called in the security personel to assist him with his actions.

"I require assistance in Room 33B."

To Oscar, the man looked strange. He was talking into his lapell like a madman. He had further resolved himself to not allow the man to prod his body with a needle as he witnessed the fact. After all, what type of crazy-man would talk to himself infront of a child with a weapon.

Shortly after the call was made, three of the men who brought Oscar to the doctor arrived. They approached the child with a swiftness that only trained personal could execute. One soldier took Oscars head within his hands, wrapping his arm across his chest, and subdued any potential threats of escaping by lifting him from the ground. Another soldier tied his legs to the supports which held the cot in the air.

Finally, after having Oscar strung up like a chicken waiting to be butchered, the two free-hand soldiers held down Oscar's arms. Swiftly, with a practiced precision, Doctor Ainar inserted his needle into the visble, stressed, vein on Oscars arm. He was amazed by how much a boy could resist in the face of his fears.

"Strong as a bull," he muttered under his breath as the blood filled the tube. "Strong as a bull with well oxygenated blood."

Off put by the whole ordeal, Oscar slackened his offenses. He watched his blood drain from his arm with a pale face. Thinking back on his entire life, Oscar couldn't remember a single time he'd bled before. He didn't see the strange degree of protection it would require for someone to go their whole life unblemished.