Na340 — Steris

It started with a sound. Not the usual mechanical whir, but a wet, breathy sigh, like the machine had just remembered it was alive. Elena was the only one in the department at 3:00 AM. The graveyard shift was for catching up on instrument trays, and she was elbow-deep in a set of micro-scissors.

No light spilled out. The chamber was supposed to be illuminated by a soft blue glow. Instead, it was absolute, swallowing darkness. And the smell. Not of sterile plastic or hydrogen peroxide residue. It was iron. Copper. Fresh blood. steris na340

The NA340 screamed. A digital shriek that rattled the glass windows of the sterile processing department. The display flooded with red text: It started with a sound

She tapped the glass. "Hey. You okay?"

That’s when the door began to cycle on its own. The locking ring spun— ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk —and the thick metal door swung open. The graveyard shift was for catching up on

Her fingers touched the warm metal of the door.

Outside the department, the hospital slept. No one heard the screams. No one saw the steam—not water vapor, but something pink and fine—venting from the machine’s exhaust.