In 2028, every city street thrummed with 6G pulses and augmented-reality overlays. Delivery drones buzzed overhead, weaving through the urban skyline. Personal AIs whispered tailored suggestions into people's ears, while biotech startups raced to perfect nanobot symbiotes—machines designed to heal humanity from the inside out.
Tonight, the first human patients would discover just how deep that promise truly cut.
22:40 – INFUSION WING, Sub-Level B3 – Langley Research Annex, Virginia. Date: Monday, October 16, 2028
The lab's emergency lights flared to life, casting everything in a pulsing red haze. Dr. Helena Vos hesitated just outside the glass doors, attuned to the low hum of the refrigerated nanobot incubators and the rhythmic click of the security shutters locking into place.
In these deep hours, two subjects in the clinical trial were about to cross a threshold—no longer just patients, but prototypes. And she wasn't about to let a single variable slip through her fingers. She swiped her keycard. The doors parted with a hiss.
Inside, the infusion wing was silent save for the steady hiss of cooling ducts. Five steel tanks lined the far wall, each marked with a project code and timestamp. Two stainless-steel tables stood beneath the central console, surfaces gleaming beneath stark overhead lamps.
"Status report," Vos called, her voice steady as she approached.
James, a young technician, scrubbed at his AR clipboard, the holographic interface flickering as his fingers danced over invisible controls.
"All systems are go, Dr. Vos—except Port A's calibration. We're showing a minus one-fifth-millimeter variance in liner depth."
Vos's eyes narrowed. She tapped the console, zooming in on the readout.
"We don't start until it's exact. Run the recalibration. I want that port reading zero point zero."
"Understood," James replied, already typing. The screen flickered as he issued the override.
Across the lab, two figures lay motionless on the infusion tables, shoulders exposed where the nanobot ports had been installed.
Vos stepped closer. Inspection lights traced the raised circles on each subject's deltoid. Her lips curved into a small, clinical smile.
No room for error tonight. Stage One depended on every detail.
She turned back to the console.
"Let's get this right. Initiate the primer cycle the moment the port's reset."
James hit enter. The room's hum deepened—a low, resonant thrum that sounded like a heartbeat made of machines.
The Threshold Protocol had begun.
22:45 – INFUSION WING (CONTINUOUS)
Vos stepped away from the console as the primer cycle spun up, a soft tremor riding beneath the hum like a warning she refused to name. Red light pulsed across the glass, slicing through the lab in methodical waves. Everything looked clean. Controlled. Just the way it was supposed to.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the console.
Nothing ever goes perfectly the first time, she thought. But we can't afford another failure—not after Seville, not with funding reports due in eighteen days and oversight from three regulatory bodies waiting for a reason to shut us down.
She stared at the subjects beneath the surgical drapes, deltoid ports shining with antiseptic sheen. The woman's hand twitched—barely—but it was enough.
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Threshold Protocol
Science FictionThreshold Protocol - ICU Canon Description "Threshold Protocol" is a covert contingency measure embedded within the Phase II Nanocell Trial program, developed under the oversight of Dr. Helena Vos and select military-contracted biotech entities. It...
