Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital wakes up before the sun. The hallways are never truly empty: doctors walking with files under their arms, nurses changing shifts, phones ringing incessantly, and the constant echo of heart monitors marking the building's rhythm.
The air smells of disinfectant, fresh coffee, and accumulated fatigue. Stretchers rush through corridors while family members wait for news in silence, clinging to hope. Every floor holds a different story: common illnesses, unexpected accidents, and cases so strange they defy all medical explanation.
Fluorescent lights remain on at all hours of the day. Elevators opening, sliding automatic doors, and hurried conversations are part of the daily soundscape. In this place, every minute can mean the difference between life and death.