Medical Center.
Emergency Room.
The scene was straight-up unreal—like something out of a fever dream.
Even the action movies these days wouldn't dare pull off a stunt like this.
No wonder half the room was still processing what just went down.
Adam yanked off his contaminated gloves and waved at the nurse to grab him a fresh pair.
But she just stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights.
Oh well.
Adam shrugged it off, grabbed some new latex gloves himself, and swapped them on in record time before diving back into the rescue.
This was a life on the line, after all!
Saving it would net Adam an extra 0.01 years of lifespan—that's 3.65 days. A little more than the three days Helen Keller once wished for, by a cool 0.65-day margin.
"Clamps!"
That tiny breather snapped the nurses—seasoned pros who'd seen it all—back to reality. They kicked into gear, jumping on Adam's orders like a well-oiled machine.
Not long after, hospital security rolled up, armed to the teeth.
Word had obviously gotten around. Those staffers in the hallway, held at gunpoint by that African-American kid, must've tipped them off. They'd been too scared to even scream.
"It's safe now! Come in and clean up—er, I mean, take him away!"
The nurse shot a glance at the security guards peeking in like nervous cats, clearly prioritizing their own hides. She couldn't help but roll her eyes.
"Huh?"
The guards finally dared to sneak a few more looks inside and spotted the knocked-out hitman sprawled on the floor. "What the heck happened here?" one blurted, jaw practically on the ground.
"Dr. Duncan took care of the hitman, no biggie," the nurse said with a proud grin. "Now hurry up and haul him off—don't mess with Dr. Duncan saving this patient!"
"WTF?!"
The guards all froze, then shouted the classic American exclamation in perfect sync, like a choir of disbelief.
"Where's the gun?"
The security captain snapped out of it first, zeroing in on the important stuff.
"Dr. Duncan kicked it under the table," the nurse said, pointing. "Wait till the surgery's done, then send someone to grab it."
"After you tie him up, get someone to check his arm," Adam added without even looking up from his work.
"Right!" the nurse chimed in. "This guy's a total psycho! Dr. Duncan smashed his arm with the clamps, and he barely grunted—just went for the gun with his other hand. Be careful with him!"
The guards exchanged looks, half-convinced they were hearing a tall tale.
"Look, just keep him under control. I'll handle the treatment stuff once I'm done here," Adam said, catching their skepticism. He glanced up at the captain. "Don't let any other staff near him—he's the type who'd kill with his teeth if he had to. Don't underestimate how ruthless he is!"
Hiss!
The captain locked eyes with Adam, saw the dead-serious look in them, and realized this was no joke. He sucked in a sharp breath.
"Everyone, stay sharp!"
The guards nodded, cranking their usual caution from 95% to a solid 99%. They moved like they were handling a live bomb—slow and steady. Even Tai Bai Jin Xing or Han Pao Pao would've tipped their hats at that level of care. No sneak attacks here—just a quick retreat if things got dicey.
No choice, really!
Being a security guard in the U.S. meant mastering self-preservation like it was an art form. Otherwise, you'd have cash in your pocket but no life to spend it with.
Once the guards cleared out, the team kept at it. After a tense stretch, they finally stabilized the vitals of the 12-year-old African-American boy who'd been chased into the hospital by that hitman.
"Is the operating room ready?"
"OR 3's all set," a nurse replied quick. "Dr. Green's there too."
"Good. Hand the gun off to him," Adam told one of the nurses, nodding at the lone guard sticking around. He started wheeling the patient toward the OR. "We're heading to OR 3."
---
OR 3. Prep Time.
Adam and Leonard were scrubbing up, disinfecting like their lives depended on it.
"Damn it, another shooting!" Leonard grumbled. "Heard Ross and the crew were here earlier too. Good thing my Rachel didn't show up!"
"Ross got…" Adam smirked, spilling the tea on Ross's latest blunder.
"Hahaha!"
Leonard—aka "the old father-in-law"—lit up like a Christmas tree hearing his "cheap son-in-law" took a beating. Couldn't have been happier if he tried.
"Serves him right! Knocking up my Rachel and still refusing to tie the knot? Beat that jerk to death, and I'd call it justice!"
"But not too dead," Adam teased. "Emma still needs her dad. I've got a hunch this mess might finally push Ross and Rachel to sort things out. Your granddaughter Emma might not end up a 'you-know-what' after all."
"For real?"
Leonard's hands sped up, scrubbing with that disinfectant soap like he was racing the clock. Ten passes per spot? More like twenty now.
Don't get him wrong—he wasn't Ross's biggest fan. But that was only because he compared him to Adam. In the eyes of old-school Americans, Ross wasn't half bad. Middle-class roots, young PhD, university professor? Solid creds.
Rachel wasn't getting any younger, and finding a guy with that kind of resume—plus real history and feelings—was no small feat. Especially with granddaughter Emma already on the way.
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As a dad and granddad, Leonard just wanted Emma to dodge the "illegitimate" label. That's all he asked.
Ross couldn't hold a candle to Adam, sure. But compared to the string of losers his other daughters dated? Ross was a catch. If Leonard dwelt on it too much, he'd have keeled over from stress years ago.
"Hmm."
Adam nodded, wiping down with the soap. "Just my guess, though. No telling if they'll actually go for it."
"I trust your gut!" Leonard beamed. "When the time comes, you'll have to help Rachel jump the line for a venue, yeah?"
"Heh, don't worry," Adam chuckled. "I'll make sure Rachel's thrilled with it."
The two bantered their way through the scrub-down, then half-raised their hands and bumped the OR doors open with their bodies.
Surgical nurses swooped in, slipping gowns over them, tying them up in the back, and sliding on latex gloves—standard stuff to keep everything sterile.
Leonard took the assistant spot with a grin, giving Adam a nod.
Adam shot him a grateful look and stepped up to the lead surgeon position without hesitation.
Everyone was used to it by now. The old debates from Adam's intern days? Long gone.
"Let's get started."
"Scalpel!"
Adam called the shots, and the OR sprang to life.
The surgery cruised along smoothly, hitting the halfway mark. Naturally, the team slipped into chit-chat mode.
The topic? That insane hitman chase that'd rocked the hospital.
Everyone was still shaken by how cold and brutal that African-American kid had been. Then came the group vent session.
"The hospital's security is a joke! We had a shooting last time, and now a bunch of us get held at gunpoint? What's next—someone just shoots us dead?"
"They've got all this budget for patients every year, but if it were up to me, I'd slap a metal detector at the entrance first thing. How are we supposed to save lives if we're not even safe?"
"Right? Totally!"
"Don't worry, it's coming soon!"
Adam piped up with a small smile.
"Dr. Duncan, you're gonna talk to the dean?" a nurse asked, eyes sparkling.
"That'd be awesome! If Dr. Duncan says it, the dean's gotta listen," another cheered.
"Maybe," an older nurse said, shaking her head. "But this year's budget's already toast. Next year's got that backup generator eating up funds. Even if the dean says yes, we're probably looking at the year after."
"No need to wait that long—I'm donating one," Adam said with a grin.
"…"
The room went dead quiet. Everyone stared at Adam like he'd just strolled in wearing shades, a gold chain, a cigar, and a crooked smirk.