In 2033, as temperatures in Tours, a city in France, approach 46 degrees Celsius, a mother and her children are evacuated to a train station that has been transformed into a shelter. This scenario is part of the design fiction exhibition Lieux d’être, created by frog, an innovation and strategy agency under Capgemini Invent. The exhibition explores how public services might adapt to anticipate disasters, protect the most vulnerable, and mobilize citizens. Presented during the French Design Week 2026 in partnership with Usbek & Rica, the exhibition is the third installment in a series of three articles. In this imagined future, summer in Tours is no longer a season but a threat. The first day of a heatwave begins at 38 degrees and peaks at 46. Fires persist, population displacement increases, and the heat disrupts the city's rhythms. However, in the scenario envisioned by frog's designers, no one panics. This is not a technological miracle but the result of years of anticipation, public investment, and collective organization. The exhibition Lieux de résistance examines the physical manifestations of public services—train stations, town halls, ministries, and France Services centers—and poses the question: what will these buildings be required to do when crises become the permanent backdrop of daily life? In this future, climate adaptation becomes an invisible infrastructure of all public policies: housing, health, mobility, social action, and education. A public building is no longer just a place to fill out a form but must be able to alert, accommodate, cool, heal, and protect. To act before an emergency, the state has enhanced the capacities of local territories by granting them access to public-use artificial intelligences. Installed in "Agoras" accessible locally or remotely, these tools generate scenarios at the local level: how long a heatwave might last, which neighborhoods would be most exposed, which infrastructures should be prioritized for transformation. Residents, experts, and public officials examine these projections, assess their consequences, and vote. The winning project is immediately accompanied by a visible retroplanning plan for all to see. Andréa, a single mother, participates remotely. When she learns the next heatwave could last three months, she chooses the transformation of Tours train station into a "common place" by 2032. The Agora represents a democratic promise: the future would no longer be reserved for experts or ministerial cabinets. Residents could see the future before experiencing it and arbitrate among different possibilities. However, the tool raises questions: who guides the public AI? What scenarios are excluded? Can a local vote address inequalities beyond the community? How can probabilistic projections avoid becoming automatic political programs? Days before the heat peak, Andréa receives an alert from the Angèle system. A shuttle picks up her family and takes them to the train station. This preemptive assistance is triggered by her "vulnerability index," an artificial intelligence that estimates how her resources, housing, and social situation protect her from or expose her to climate risks. The principle acknowledges a fundamental reality: facing the same temperature, we do not face the same risks. Someone living in the attic, working outdoors, raising children alone, or suffering from a chronic illness does not experience heat the same way as someone who can leave the city or cool their home. Equality, therefore, is not about sending the same notification to everyone but about focusing aid where the danger is greatest. The reverse of this algorithmic attention is that to be protected before others, one must be described, classified, and made legible by the administration. What data establish the index? How often is it revised? Can it be contested? How to assist someone who escapes the databases or whose precariousness was miscalculated? The fiction reminds us that a predictive public service can only be just if it remains explainable, controllable, and capable of hearing what its calculations have not seen. Upon arrival, the train station no longer quite looks like a train station. In response to the heat, its "building AI" has covered the facade with a layer of cork. Inspired by biomimicry, the envelope reacts to its environment like skin: it protects the interior while maintaining a connection to the outside. Architecture ceases to be a fixed backdrop. It becomes a protective organism. In the shaded hall, a volunteer welcomes the family. A children's space allows an eco-pediatrician to help the youngest express their climate-related traumas. Another counter gathers the services needed for Andréa and the reassessment of her index. Under one roof, the place combines physical protection, mental health, and administrative assistance. The "common place" reverses the recent trajectory of many public services, long pressured to dematerialize and rationalize their square footage. As climate conditions weaken housing, a dense network of physical places becomes precious again. The train station, town hall, or France Services center is no longer only valued for the services they deliver but for what they guarantee physically: an open door, shade, water, and human presence. These shelters, however, need hands. In the scenario, the generalization of a four-day workweek fuels a "Volunteer Support Service," also presented as an expanded civil protection. Psychologists, artisans, specialists in public aid or insurance give a day per week. Citizens no longer only vote on adaptation plans but contribute to their implementation. The recruitment poster imagined by frog encapsulates this new doctrine: "Take care of the catastrophes. Become an eco-psychology volunteer for the city of Tours." The pictograms borrow as much from emergency aid as from social work. Prevent, listen, support, inform, protect, act together: resilience ceases to be an abstract quality of territories. It becomes a concrete activity, distributed among available and trained citizens. This proposition, however, opens a narrow line. Volunteering can strengthen trust, transfer skills, and give power to free time. It cannot, however, become the sympathetic name for public disengagement. Organized solidarity does not replace healthcare workers, social workers, or permanent resources. The challenge would be to add citizen engagement to a robust public service rather than entrusting volunteers to compensate for its shortcomings. Resisting means still being able to welcome everyone. Lieux de résistance does not predict the Tours train station in 2033. The project rather assembles several transformations already perceptible and pushes them to form a system: permanent extreme events, localized public decision-making, prospective AI, aid triggered before catastrophe, adaptive buildings, and civil protection open to ordinary skills. This system has a major virtue: it refuses to reduce adaptation to individual air conditioners, private insurance, or departure toward more temperate territories. It makes protection a common good. When the house becomes uninhabitable, the city must offer another house. When the future threatens, democracy must allow it to be discussed before it imposes itself. But this promise holds only under certain conditions: that the algorithm remains an instrument and not an arbiter; that the vulnerability index opens rights without confining people in a category; that volunteering strengthens professionals rather than replacing them; and that common places remain genuinely open to all. Because the resistance spoken of in the fiction is not only that of walls against heat. It is that of a society that chooses, in the heart of the catastrophe, to leave no one outside.