They did not call them patients.
They were volunteers.
That word appeared in every document, every log header, every spoken instruction. It mattered. It set boundaries before anyone crossed them by accident.
The decision to involve humans had not been sudden. It had been argued into existence over three weeks of memos, redlines, and objections that sharpened rather than softened with repetition. Victor wrote the first refusal. Elena wrote the first conditional acceptance. Hana wrote the language that made it survivable. Jun rewrote half the test plan so the machine could fail without hurting anyone. Maria rewrote the other half so the people running it could fail without panic.
By the time the first volunteer stepped through the controlled access door, there were six signatures on the authorization sheet and twice as many constraints.
No diagnosis would be delivered as fact.
No treatment would be suggested.
No result would be given without a human review note attached.
