When Daisy awakens, it's been 24 hours since she first was knocked out. A medi-unit top opens up, allowing her to get out. Her hair is gone, shaved completely off, removing any hairgrowth that she managed since her first arrival (or return from home). There are several glass canisters with a note beside them (on honest-to-god real paper), promising their safety. The room is entirely different from where she fell asleep the day prior. It's more comfortable, with a rug and a lamp giving off a warm light, as well as paintings that have been attached to the walls.

It's also still clearly within the same facility. Underneath all these shallow trappings, the white walls and bare facility remains. If anything, these collections of welcoming goods are there to mock her.

There is a door: sliding, ready to open. However, since she doesn't have a neural implant, it won't answer to her. It won't even budge.

A voice—that same amused voice—calls to her through an intercom hidden somewhere in the room. "Ms. Johnson, I hope you like the arrangement. I thought that … well, since you won't be going anywhere for some time, you ought to have a chance to make yourself at home. Do you have anything you prefer to eat? I can even get you a good cut of steak if you want. It's really very hard to get a good cut of steak anymore." A dramatic pause follows. "Oh, forget it. Just call and I'll hear you. One of us will. Probably. I've got my hands full right now—you understand, don't you?"

Then, the next question seems to come rather oddly: "Do you like to read?"