Palo Alto, California. Home to the renowned Stanford Medical Research Facility. The year is 2040.
The sun dipped low on a lazy summer evening. As it kissed the horizon, the main research center was bathed in a magic-hour glow, deep amber and soft crimson sliding across its towering glass façade. Inside, just past the main entrance, Sergeant McNally shifted in his seat, not because he needed to, just a casual check to stave off total numbness. You know… make sure all the parts are still getting blood. His partner John sat next to him wondering if it was too soon to do the rounds again. Another lazy day for the security team. Until.
A switchboard indicator blinked red. "Sir." said John, "we've got a proximity alert at the main entrance; it's a woman." "Yeah, I've got eyes," replied McNally, barely glancing up from his coffee.
"What do you want to do about it?" "Forget it," McNally said. "She'll leave eventually." But John kept watching. The woman stepped closer to the gate. She pounded once. Then again. Her mouth moved, she was shouting something, but the feed was video only, and the thick glass doors were virtually soundproof. Her desperation grew; shoulders now shaking. A child limp in her arms. The guard straightened, voice dropping with uncertainty. "I don't think she's going away, sir." McNally sighed and set his cup down with a dull clink. "Great. I was an hour from getting out of here, and now I've got to deal with this."
Three floors up, Dr. Izumi Arata stepped into the elevator. She pressed "L," closed her eyes, and stole a moment of rest. Drawing in a long breath, she exhaled—then yawned, full and unguarded.
The elevator chimed at the lobby. Twin doors slid open. Dr. Arata stepped out, coat folded over one arm, bag in the opposite hand. Early forties. Sharp-eyed. Deliberate. Her movements were precise, her presence composed, a measured calm layered over quiet intensity. There was beauty in her, unmistakable, but curated to the background, dimmed by design. A necessary concession, perhaps, to be heard before being seen. She was the kind of person who never had to raise her voice to show authority.
Halfway to the front entrance, a voice called out.
"Hang on a sec, Doc. You might not want to go out the front. We've got a little situation."
Dr. Arata slowed, her brows slightly furrowed. "What kind of situation?"
She stepped over to the console and peered at the screen. "Is she a patient here?" "Doesn't pop up on facial recognition doctor." "No record in the system." Dr. Arata stared a moment longer. "Give me comms."
The intercom glowed green. "Ma'am, this is a private medical research facility. The hospital is the next building over. I need you to step back from the entrance. Ma'am, can you hear me?" There was a pause. Then a voice crackled through, broken, strained, thick with accent. "Please… help. My girl. She sick. She die. You help, please." The sergeant looked at the doctor and spoke. "Seriously, Doc, we got this. You should just use the rear exit." The woman moved suddenly. Gently, she knelt and laid the girl down at the gate, then stepped back with her arms raised in surrender. Dr. Arata exhaled slowly. With quiet sarcasm, she said, "Looks like this little situation isn't going away." John shot a glance at his sergeant; a look that said I told you so.
Dr. Arata turned to John. "Come with me." "Ma'am, this is not protocol," said McNally. Dr. Arata peered at the woman's face on the screen, then gave the sergeant a look. In an instant, he understood; protocol was now whatever Dr. Arata said it was.
Arata moved quickly through the lobby, flanked closely by John; McNally's eyes glued to the woman on the screen. At the access point, she motioned to McNally. "Open the inner doors." He hesitated, disapproving, but complied. The doors hissed open. Dr. Arata approached the outer doors. She paused, peered up at the woman, then down at the child. After a brief moment, she raised her hand to the scanner and unlocked the outer door.
As the doors slid open, the guard beside her instinctively raised his weapon. Without even looking, Dr. Arata raised a hand, motioning for him to lower it. The woman stepped forward, hands still raised, her eyes locked onto the doctor's. "Please… help." Arata crouched beside the girl and pressed two fingers to her neck, counting. There was a pulse—faint, but there. Eyes closed. Skin pale.
Without a word, Arata slid her arms beneath the girl's frail, limp body, lifted her, and turned. The mother followed, hesitant but close, until John stepped in front of her. "For God's sake; do you even know where you're standing?" Dr. Arata's voice was calm but deliberate, as if addressing a child. "Scan her for weapons, then let her in." John sighed and waved the scanner across the woman's body. No alerts. No weapons. Just trembling limbs and desperation. Dr. Arata tapped her comm. "Prep an observation room. I'm bringing someone in."
"There's nothing on the docket doctor," came the uncertain reply.
"Yes, I know. Do as I say please."