Cara Membuka Lift Rumah Sakit の小説・ストーリー

Then, ‘Try the third along from the lift. ‘Suppose it is wrong? How sure are you?’ ‘Don’t worry. That bit of security is too smart for residents. People screw up several times a day. For example, I’ve left the lift at the wrong floor, counted to the third door and nothing worked. The software has learnt to ignore people and their daftness. There is always a chink in every suit of armour.’ We got to door three, found the rectangle, did the sequence and – the door opened without a sound. We were in.

She looks at all of us and then nods, granting us access: "Fourth floor, room 405. You can ask one of the doctors at the desk up there about her. One of them should have her as a patient." It is clear to us that she doesn't know what is going on. Or she doesn't care about hearing what is going on with a patient in the hospital she works at. With that, we all ran past people to get to the elevator, like a bunch of rug rat brats that don't know how to behave. We stuffed ourselves in an elevator with five other people. Emaline pressed one of the many numbers that are punched in on the elevator stopping points. As soon as the elevator doors slid open on number four, we are out. Zander franticall

She said, "Okay. Okay. Okay! Come with me!" As she spoke, she began to rummage through the drawer behind her for a key. She picked up a bunch of keys with "Fifth Floor" written on them, put her cell phone into her pocket, and waved her hands, gesturing us to go with her. There were only five floors of the hospital here. She took us upstairs by taking an elevator. The elevator was super old-fashioned. It would take at least ten seconds for the elevator door to be closed. And when it went up, it made a loud noise.

The corridor was a blur of flashing red alarm lights and shouting hospital staff. I didn't use the stairs this time. I lunged into the industrial service lift at the back of the ward. I hit the metal button marked B-3 with the heel of my palm. The heavy steel doors ground shut with slowness. Then the elevator dropped like a stone. The cable groaned above my head as the floor numbers flashed past in a red sequence: 3... 2... 1... G... B-1... On the data-pad screen the Vanguard Syndicate’s automated overwrite lines were eating through my Ibibio phonetic cipher like acid through paper.