A faint smell, something like ozone, permeates the air. Everything is clean, spotless clean, almost aggressively clean: pristine white, polished chrome, with accents of soothing green. Everything shines.
The decontamination and treatment chambers have gently curving walls, like eggs, or wombs. The long research galleries with their high, airy ceilings and bright lights sussur with the hush of quiet industriousness. Nursebots glide silently, slender enameled-metal arms proffering medicines in the patient's preferred form: little glass cups of jewel-tone liquid, little metal trays of pills, hookah-like contraptions filled with medicinal smoke, long glittering syringes, tasteful dermapatches. Researchers flock in their white lab coats, cluster, mutter hushed excitement to one another, break apart to scatter down the long hallways.
The Drug Therapy Wing hisses continually with the soft sound of the air filtration system, cleansing the air of fumes and smokes. The Hypno-Therapy Wing throbs with almost soundless sound. The Sexual Therapy Wing's storage center is remarkable for the breadth and specificity of its contents. The right tool for the right job...
Here and there the air shimmers with the presence of energy-beings designed by the CSIA to consume hostile genetic, memetic, and spiritual agents. Tiny robots like enameled beetles, green and white, glide discreetly over every surface.