What happened?
Salvador woke up with a jolt, his head slamming against the glass in front of him, causing him to wince sharply at the sudden pain.
His eyes roamed around the room, his mind struggling to understand his predicament. Confusion gripped him. For one, he had no idea where he was. Add to that the fact that his body felt restricted in some way, and panic began to grow, coiling in his chest like a living thing.
"What… what is going on? Where am I?" he muttered, attempting to move, but his body resisted. Every effort to shift seemed to encounter invisible chains. He tried reaching toward the glass, only to inadvertently knock against it again.
At that moment, the previously clear screen lost its transparency, becoming more opaque. A block of text appeared, smooth, yet commanding:
System Initializing...
Boot Sequence 1/5: Core Diagnostics Engaged.
Boot Sequence 2/5: Neural Modules Online.
Boot Sequence 3/5: Symptom Analysis Engine Activated.
Boot Sequence 4/5: Medical Database Synced.
Boot Sequence 5/5: Patient Interface Ready.
CliniQ AI Online – Diagnostic Mode Active
Welcome back, Mr. Henry Salvador
Henry's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of shock registering across his face. Initially, he had thought he might be trapped in some sort of shipping container destined for dubious places. But this… this seemed different.
He scanned the profile system, eyes catching a few key words: Clinic, Patient, Medical, Symptoms.
"Sounds like I'm a patient," he muttered under his breath. He attempted to interact with the AI, but his hands were still restrained by the machine. He tried nudging it with his nose—and surprisingly, it worked.
The interface lit up with a welcoming glow:
🖥️ CliniQ AI – Main Interface
Welcome: Mr. Henry Salvador
Please select an interface module:
Patient Identification – Verify ID, demographics, medical records.
Health Status Overview – Vital signs, symptoms, ongoing conditions.
Diagnostic Tools – Symptom analyzer, lab result interpreter, predictive diagnostics.
Treatment & Medication – Prescriptions, recommendations, therapy schedules.
Medical History Archive – Past illnesses, surgeries, scans, vaccinations.
Alerts & Notifications – Health warnings, appointment reminders, lab updates.
Analytics & Reports – Generate full health reports, trend graphs, risk assessments.
Music & Relaxation – Patient-centered music therapy, guided meditation, calming audio. 🎵
A shocked expression crossed his face. "Whoa… it even has music therapy built in," he muttered, his gaze moving across the screen, trying to understand the other options. A small, wry smile flickered across his face, imagining how a routine doctor's checkup looked compared to this system.
"This is better than a doctor for checking daily health," he said under his breath, grinning faintly. But the smile faltered when he realized controlling the interface would be difficult; his nose was not long enough to navigate all the options smoothly.
"Shit!" he cursed loudly.
"Such a good system… but it fails drastically in the one thing that controls it," he muttered.
At that moment, a text block overlapped the screen, marked by a red warning symbol. A female voice rang out, calm and precise:
⚠ SYSTEM ERROR: Variable '[UNKNOWN_PARAMETER]' does not exist.
Salvador raised an eyebrow. He wondered why the system had responded in such a way when his body hadn't directly touched it. The glass screen only covered the top portion, which he was certain he had not grazed.
"Could it be speech, then?" he muttered. It seemed the most likely explanation.
"Well, that's just convenient," he added, thinking wryly. If speech hadn't worked, he mused, what would he have had to do? Use his tongue to clean the glass? "Helping the cleaners in the process," he muttered sarcastically.
"System… wait, that's your name, right? System?" he asked hesitantly.
For a brief moment, the interface remained still. Then the screen shimmered softly, the light rippling across the modules.
"Designation: System," the calm female voice replied.
A short pause followed, the tone almost amused.
"However, you may call me anything you prefer."
A small notification appeared on the interface:
USER INPUT RECEIVED
Name preference module: UNASSIGNED
Awaiting designation…
"Ah!" he exclaimed. It seemed to really work that way. Wait… any name? He looked up quickly, and his head bumped the glass again.
"Ouch!" he muttered.
Henry selected :Medical History Archive – Past illnesses, surgeries, scans, vaccinations.
Retrieving patient records…
Patient: Henry Salvador
Early-Life Illnesses:
Childhood Asthma
Measles
…
Current Diagnosed Conditions:
Osteosarcoma (bone cancer)
Glioblastoma (aggressive brain tumor)
Dementia (progressive cognitive decline)
Hypertension
Arthritis
Age-related vision degeneration
Status: Records incomplete. Additional entries archived.
"Jesus, are you trying to kill me!" Salvador's eyes widened in fright. "Glibo—what?" he muttered, stumbling over the word. "Age-related degeneration? Your mother—I'm a young man! What do you mean age-related?"
He almost kicked out in anger, but his legs barely moved, restricted by stiffness.
"I think you made a mistake, System!" he exclaimed, his expression tight with agitation.
The interface flickered softly. Lines of data scrolled across the screen before the same calm female voice responded.
"Correction: No falsified statements detected within the presented medical record."
A brief pause followed.
"Patient: Henry Salvador."
"Recorded age: 92 years."
The voice continued, measured and patient.
"Your current physiological condition corresponds with advanced age-related metrics. Cognitive dissonance between perceived age and biological state is consistent with documented neurological decline."
The screen shifted again:
"Recommendation: Please remain calm. Elevated stress levels may worsen existing conditions."
"Elevated… your mother!" Salvador snapped.
The system did not react to the insult. The calm female voice returned, unchanged.
"Outburst acknowledged. Emotional agitation detected."
"Vital signs indicate elevated stress levels; continued behavior may negatively affect patient stability."
Salvador continued cursing, dragging the system's lineage through nine generations without pause. His words came fast and sharp, rising with each breath, until the air seemed to vibrate with his frustration.
For several seconds, the system remained silent, simply recording the outburst.
Then the interface shifted abruptly. The soft blue panels turned amber, and a warning banner stretched across the screen.
⚠ PANIC PROTOCOL ENGAGED
The calm female voice returned, steady and measured.
"Patient agitation level: critical."
"Cardiovascular stress indicators rising beyond safe parameters."
Several lines appeared beneath the warning:
Contacting on-site medical personnel…
Alert transmitted to emergency response team…
Room monitoring activated…
The voice spoke once more:
"Medical assistance has been requested."
The interface dimmed slightly, and a final message appeared:
MEDICAL HELP CALLED. PLEASE WAIT…
STAY CALM. ASSISTANCE ARRIVING.
Salvador's cursing finally slowed when the system's pixels coalesced into a female avatar. It winked and waved lightly before dissolving as the interface powered down.
The lights dimmed for a moment before daylight flooded the room. The glass wall retracted with a soft hiss, revealing the outside.
Standing there was a humanoid robot, sleek, marked with symbols and soft blue lines, clearly designed for medical assistance.
Behind it came two human nurses, their presence striking and captivating; every movement seemed measured, impossible to ignore, and Henry found himself involuntarily drawn to the rhythm of their motions.
His eyes roamed them, drinking in the contours of their figures, the way each curve hinted at elegance and strength. A slow, sly smile spread across his face, heat flaring in his chest as his pulse quickened.
The first nurse shivered slightly as she caught his gaze. She flinched, not from fear, but from the attention implicit in his look, the way he measured them with his eyes.
Pervert, she thought, internally.
The second nurse, however, remained calm, her expression measured, almost pitying, as she studied him. She adjusted the small handheld device at the base of the medbed, keeping him in focus.
"Sir… please remain calm," the humanoid robot said, its voice smooth and controlled. "Elevated emotional activity has triggered an emergency response. Agitation may worsen your condition. Please breathe slowly while medical staff conduct an assessment."
Henry scowled, already beginning to resent this system—first the prankster, then this one.
"Elevated… tch," he snorted.
"Sir," the nurse holding the tablet said softly, stepping forward. "You're alright, sir. You're safe. We're here with you."
Her voice remained steady, rhythmic, guiding him without condescension.
"Just take it easy… slow breaths… that's it," she added, the tablet glowing faintly. "Everything is okay, sir. You're not alone."
She turned subtly to the other nurse, indicating for her to take over. The second nurse stepped forward, continuing the calm tone while she accessed the patient interface.
The screen brightened to reveal PIHO – Patient Identification & Health Overview.
Additional information available. Access extended patient records? [YES] [NO]
She pressed YES, verified her identity via thumb scan, and unlocked the extended records.
ACCESS GRANTED
The patient record expanded:
Patient: Henry Salvador
Age: 92
Status: Critical Monitoring
Major Diagnoses:
Osteosarcoma – advanced bone cancer
Glioblastoma – aggressive brain tumor
Severe Neurodegeneration – extensive brain tissue damage
Progressive Dementia
Neurological Status:
Extensive brain damage detected
High probability of cognitive dissonance episodes
Critical Condition Alert: Terminal systemic failure predicted
Neurological Event Record:
Prolonged Coma – 19 years
COR: 4%
Her eyes widened on seeing the data. She looked at the man in front of her—awake, speaking—and her shock deepened.
What was going on? How was he alive?
Now that she thought of it, wasn't he scheduled for life support disengagement in three days due to payment stalling? She could not comprehend it. The record said nineteen years as minimum; six years should have been the earliest possible.
Then there was the COR, known for exaggeration, even accounting for potential future technologies that might aid recovery.
The chance of recovery, even with all this considered, was four percent.
She was speechless.
Tapping the iPad, she requested the doctor responsible for the ward to arrive immediately. The robot's system lights blinked erratically, a reboot initiated on its back screen.
It system had crashed on reading his data
"What is it, Clara?" the other nurse asked, noting her colleague's wide eyes. She had known Clara for years and knew she rarely reacted, earning her the nickname Frigid Elegante.
A ridiculous name but, a fitting one.
Clara looked at the robot rebooting. "Seems it malfunctioned," she murmured, stomping her foot briefly, then turned to the tablet.
When she glanced through the records again, she froze.
She looked at Salvador, disbelief written across her face.
"How are you alive?" she finally whispered.