The usually quiet and tranquil manor was bustling. The commands of the head maid and butler echoed down the long hallway, sending countless house servants scurrying about. The loud and authoritative voice of the mansion's lord boomed through the gargantuan building, "Get our best doctors to the clean room this instance!"

Many pairs of legs worked to the bone, fetching warm water, towels, blankets, and doctors. All of the items, however, were only set on the silver service cart, positioned outside the large mahogany doors. It looked impenetrable, standing at 7 ft 5 inches tall and 2 inches thick, granting access to only those allowed to. Not even a rat, cockroach or a tiny bug can get in, more or less a person. Right behind the wooden giant was yet another door. This time, it was made of tempered glass, secured with a high-tech iris and finger scanning system. The moment you look through the shining glass, your eyes will be attacked by the blinding whiteness of the clean room.

Cladded in pristine white coats, a dozen people rushed down the hallway. Their hands carrying suitcases, a stethoscope hanging around their neck, as was the cliche image of doctors. Except that, they are just probably among the best ones out there, nothing special. The mansion's owner stood impassively in front of the gigantic, wooden door, his face indifferent. Why was he so nonchalant in his wife's near-death situation? The answer? Simple, he wasn't. Underneath the facade he puts on, his heart was beating so quickly, so loudly that he could hear it in his ears. His breathing was uneven, every breath was ragged, but he had to keep himself together.