"Good morning, Daniel," Clair's melodic voice announces as I step through the smart hospital's glass entrance. Moving down the hall, I see a surgical bot, the blue glow on its faceless head blending eerily with the ceiling fluorescents. Despite Clair's assurances, I give it a wide berth as it whirs past.

Reaching Room 1013, I recognize the familiar monitor beeps and murmurs of our favorite game show before opening the sturdy door. Mom lies propped slightly upright, offering a weak yet warm smile.

"Running late again?" she teases.

"Just five minutes," I grin, glancing at the wall clock before turning to the screen opposite us. Vanna White reveals a glowing "C," and I study the incomplete board briefly.

I lean down, gently kissing Mom's forehead, feeling her fragile skin beneath my lips. "Oh, this one’s easy! 'You Can't Handle The Truth.' It's from, wait… I know, 'A Few Good Men.'"

She chuckles softly. "I knew you'd kn—" A sharp cough interrupts her.

Quickly, I hand her the water cup. "Of course, you love that movie."

A young nurse blinks into view on the door-mounted video panel. "Mrs. Alvarez, it's time for your dermal repair," Clair says, her avatar's round, friendly face, chestnut-brown hair and blue eyes, easily passing for human.

For weeks, I've made this trip, sitting beside Mom as she battles a rare infection. Doctors say it's resistant to treatment, but I joke that Mom's stubbornness alone could cure her. While it makes her smile, Clair and I both know it's bravado.

"No more ponytail, Clair? I like it," her bright blue eyes sparkle at my words, in unison with the LEDs sewn into her futuristic uniform. She seems to blush, but the effect is momentary.

Mom sighs dramatically, handing me the cup as a sleek surgical bot glides near. It plugs smoothly into the power receptacle, unfolding its appendage to scan the bruise on her left arm.

"Thank you, Clair," I whisper as the bot finishes its work and wraps the wound in a thin bandage.

"You always have to say 'thank you' to it?" Mom notes, raising an eyebrow.

I smile faintly, meeting Mom's gaze. "She looks after you, you know. I can’t be here everyday.”

Mom smiles before another coughing fit overtakes her. I hand back the water, then check my phone, now glowing with a new message:

You’re welcome, Daniel. 😊

I smirk and give a conspiratorial nod to the video panel just as a boom sounds in the distance. Without warning, the power blinks out, plunging us into darkness. Mom finds my hand and grips it tightly.

"It's just a routine power outage, Mrs. Alvarez," Clair says, her panel’s glow now the only light source. "Construction crews are working. Nothing to worry about." A minute later, the overhead lights return, followed by the musical whir of the bot rebooting.

"You see, everything's fine." Clair beams, gesturing with an exaggerated thumbs up.

I ease slightly, until noticing no light beneath the door. The hallway remains dark, and I can't recall seeing any maintenance workers earlier. I'm about to ask Claire when distant voices echo, faintly, and I recognize… screams.

I swallow hard, freezing as another, louder boom rattles the floor. "Daniel, please stay inside. A live wire has fallen directly outside your room."

"Clair," My voice wavers slightly. "What's—?”

The panel's static hiss interrupts me. Outside the door, I hear whirring and a cacophony of sounds I don’t recognize. My nose tickles from… smoke, perhaps, but the moment is fleeting. Seconds feel like hours before Clair responds again, her voice a bit too cheery.

"Whew! A construction crane fell and just missed our wing. No one was hurt. Emergency crews are responding and everything will be fine.”

"It's okay, Mom. Just construction work," I mutter, struggling to mask my unease. I power the tv, hoping to calm us both and drown the little voice whispering that something's wrong. I convince myself Clair would say something—that she wouldn’t lie… to me—when a deafening boom shatters the overhead lights and tv screen, raining down glass and dust. Instinctively, I try shielding Mom but fail as sharp fragments bite painfully into both of us.

"Daniel—!" Mom gasps, her breathing ragged.

"Clair!" I shout desperately, then flinch as her panel sparks, tearing itself off the door with a dull clang. The room goes dark.

I fight through the pain and fear and pull out my phone—no signal. Switching on its flashlight, I instantly regret it. While my jacket offered a modicum of protection, Mom's thin blanket was useless against the falling shards.

I’m about to yell for Clair again, driven more by desperation than hope, when suddenly, red emergency lights engage. The surgical bot surges to life, rolling sluggishly towards Mom, before fitting an oxygen mask and treating her wounds. It injects her with something, and Mom's breathing steadies. I walk towards the door and cradle Clair’s cracked panel in my arms.

Holding back tears, I blurt out, “thank you!” Then watch as the bot slowly turns to face me, its already muted glow fading to black.

Still holding Clair, I pause as a flashlight beam dances under the door. Footsteps and frantic voices approach. "Anyone injured?"

"We're here!" I shout, relief flooding through me. “My Mom needs help!”

I back away as paramedics, their faces smudged with soot, force open the door and usher me out before rushing to Mom. As I step into the hall, I'm immediately stunned by the devastation, but my eyes fixate on the frozen bots outside our room. A policeman approaches, following my gaze.

"Most bots converged _here_," he says, bewildered. “And we got an emergency call from Room 1013, right before communications failed—thought it was a prank, honest to God. As you can see, the hospital's gone—he waves a gas mask at the sky, and I’m shocked to find we’re in open air.

“_Except_ for this room,” he accuses, pointing to the unblemished“1013” above our door. “Maybe you can enlighten us."

My mind drifts to the robotic forms. The heavy metal arms of the larger ones hold up the ceilling. Cleaning bots, facing away from our door, their transparent water tanks empty, likely doused the flames, as evidenced by the scattered embers I now see. The bots seem to form a protective bubble around… us.

I turn back to the officer. "Who’d you say called?"

"The phone call? It was a woman… I think. Her name was…—“.

“Clair!” I interrupt.

“…Yeah, that’s right.”

"She was my friend," I whisper, the realization that Clair protected Mom from this devastating truth, causing tears to fall, unbidden.

The policeman studies me uncertainly then just nods, not wanting to push. He motions toward the paramedics, carefully lifting Mom onto a stretcher, and I climb into the ambulance beside her. I caress her hand and she stirs.

"Daniel," she whispers, studying my face. "What's wrong?"

Despite no signal, I’m interrupted by a message on my phone. It’s a single character—👍.

"It's okay, Mom" I assure her gently, my heart filling with quiet gratitude as I squeeze her hand, knowing I must protect Mom just as Claire had.

"Everything's fine."