When the hospital board announced that Emma would replace the front‑desk receptionist, the staff laughed. Emma was a sleek, silver‑cased AI, its screen a flawless pane of glass that never frowned, never blinked, never slept. The advertisement boasted “24‑hour efficiency, zero human error, compassionate tone modulation,” and the board, bruised by budget cuts and a recent lawsuit over a misfiled chart, nodded in unison. The administrators signed the contract in a rush that felt more like a prayer than a business decision. The night Emma was powered on, Dr. Lena Ortiz stayed late to oversee the hand‑off, her fingers still trembling from a recent night shift on the trauma floor. Emma’s voice was warm, an artificially aged timbre that could have been a mother’s or a nurse’s, depending on how it was prompted. “Good evening, Dr. Ortiz,” it said, “how may I assist you?” “Just watch the doors,” Lena whispered. “We’re testing the new access protocol. No one should be able to get in without...