Chapter 7 - THE SPONSORSHIP TRAP
The cheerful jingle echoed through the sterile white lobby like a sick joke, bouncing off the polished marble floors and the empty reception desks where automated medical assistants sat powered down behind glass partitions. Clara clutched the arms of her wheelchair, her breathing coming in ragged, shallow gasps as another contraction wrenched her body forward, her knuckles digging so hard into the metal that her skin turned pale.
“Julian… don’t touch… the triage desk,” Clara managed to whisper, her voice thin and reedy. “It’s a corporate hook… your grandfather told me about those… they take everything.”
“Mom, you’re burning up! Look at your monitor!” Julian pointed frantically at the small health status band clamped around Clara’s wrist, where her heart rate was spiking to dangerous levels while the background display alternated between her vital signs and a blinking banner ad for an energy drink brand.
Officer Miller holstered his weapon, stepping up to the glass triage partition and slamming his fist against the emergency release button. Nothing happened except for a soft, mocking buzz. “The local network is slaved to the broadcast server now. Standard police overrides are completely disabled once a channel enters commercial tier.”
“Can’t you break the glass?” Julian pleaded, looking up at the officer with large, tear-filled hazel eyes. “You have a baton! You have tools!”
“If I shatter this glass, the security system triggers an automatic facility-wide quarantine,” Vance said, stepping in with a grim expression. “That means the internal oxygen supply drops to half-capacity to preserve resources for premium subscribers. Your mother wouldn’t last ten minutes in a low-oxygen scrub.”
Julian turned back to the triage desk, where a sleek, black holographic projector had risen from the smooth surface, casting a floating, translucent contract into the air between them. The header read in bold, glowing red letters: EXCLUSIVE BROADCAST PARTNERSHIP: LIFEFLOW PHARMACEUTICALS.
“To unlock the maternity ward elevators,” the automated voice chirped cheerfully from the overhead speakers, “please accept our standard terms of agreement. By signing with your live biometric stream, you grant LifeFlow exclusive rights to broadcast the birth of the child in exchange for immediate medical clearance.”
“They want to broadcast the baby?” Julian stared at the glowing text in absolute horror, his small hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. “They want to put a newborn baby on a public livestream for a bunch of strangers?”
“It’s the only way the elevator doors will open, kid,” Miller said quietly, looking away from Julian’s horrified gaze. “Without a corporate sponsor, the hospital’s internal grid treats you like unauthorized squatters. The doors won't even supply power to the motor.”
Clara shook her head violently, tears spilling from her dark eyes as she reached out a weak hand to grab Julian’s shoulder. “No, Julian… we’d rather die on this floor. Don’t sell your brother’s life to them.”
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Before Julian could answer, the holographic projector flickered, and a live video thumbnail popped up in the corner of the contract, showing a chatroom with over two hundred thousand active viewers already arguing over what the baby’s name should be.
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