Chapter 1 - chapter zero : The Last Heart beat

August 7, 2026. The Royal Adelaide Hospital roared with chaos, a beast of steel and glass gasping under the weight of a brutal night. Antiseptic burned Rahul's nose, mingling with the sour reek of fear-soaked sweat. Fluorescent lights flickered like a dying pulse, spitting harsh shadows across linoleum floors scarred by gurney wheels and frantic boots. Monitors shrieked- beep-beep-BEEP -heart rates spiking, oxygen alarms wailing like banshees. Nurses bolted through curtained bays, their shouts drowned in the ER's relentless din. Dr. Rahul, forty-two, yanked his crumpled white coat tighter, its frayed hem catching on his hip. His eyes, bloodshot behind smudged glasses, stung from a sixteen-hour shift. Orphaned young, he'd clawed through med school on pure stubbornness, but the ghosts of lost patients haunted him, whispering he'd never done enough. His hands shook as he gripped a flickering tablet, charting vitals, ignoring the gnawing ache in his gut. One more case. One more. A scream ripped the air raw. Stay back, or I carve her up! Rahul's head snapped up, heart slamming against his ribs. In the waiting area, a man-gaunt, wild, maybe thirty-loomed like a specter, his torn hospital gown flapping, revealing pale skin crisscrossed with scars. His trembling hand pressed a rusted kitchen knife to the throat of a girl, eight years old, her blonde pigtails quaking. Her sneakers skidded on the linoleum, her sobs choking out as her wide eyes begged for salvation. Toppled chairs sprawled across the floor, patients cowering behind a vending machine's flickering red glow, like spilled blood. They're coming for me! the man howled, voice jagged, eyes darting to corners where shadows pulsed with his nightmares. The voices-they say run, run, RUN! His knife twitched, slicing a thin red line across the girl's neck. She whimpered, blood trickling onto her pink T-shirt, and the crowd gasped, a nurse's tray crashing to the floor. Rahul's pulse thundered, his palms slick. Schizophrenia-his mind raced, clocking the signs: paranoia, hallucinations, a patient broken by a system that left him to rot. Protocol screamed to wait for security, but the girl's terrified gaze burned into him, dragging up memories of his own childhood-alone, helpless, abandoned. He couldn't stand by. Not now. Not ever. He stepped forward, hands raised, voice low but steady, cutting through the chaos. Hey, mate, I'm Dr. Rahul. I see you're scared. What's your name? Tom! the man spat, knife shaking, his free hand clawing at his matted hair. They're in my head, whispering, locking me in! I won't stay! His eyes flickered, unmoored, as if the walls were screaming back. I hear you, Tom, Rahul said, inching closer, sneakers scraping the cold floor. The hospital's a trap, yeah? But that girl-she's not part of this. Let her go, and I'll help you get out. His heart jackhammered, but he kept his voice calm, like soothing a patient mid-seizure. He was close now, near enough to smell Tom's rancid breath, to see sweat dripping from his sunken face. Liar! Tom's scream tore through the ER, his knife jerking. You're with them, caging me! The girl sobbed louder, her tiny hands clawing at his arm. Rahul's stomach twisted, his eyes locked on the blade's glint. Security was nowhere-damn this understaffed hellhole. Tom, look at me, Rahul urged, voice taut, stepping closer. I'm just a doctor, not them. I'll talk to the staff, get you out. Let her go first. He was three feet away, the girl's desperate whimpers shredding his resolve. He had to end this-now. Shut up! Tom's arm lashed out, knife flashing like lightning. Rahul lunged, grabbing Tom's wrist, twisting with every ounce of his fading strength. The girl shrieked, stumbling free, her sneakers slipping as she bolted to a nurse's arms. The crowd surged, screams echoing, someone yelling for security. Rahul grappled with Tom, muscles screaming, pinning the man's arm against a toppled chair. You're not taking me! Tom roared, thrashing like a trapped animal. Then-agony. A white-hot explosion in Rahul's side. The knife plunged deep into his upper liver, tearing through flesh, hitting a major vessel. Rahul gasped, staggering back, hands clutching the wound. Blood gushed warm and wet, soaking his coat, pooling on the linoleum in seconds. His vision swam, legs buckling. Liver. Hepatic artery. I'm done. Tom snarled, raising the knife again, but security slammed into him, the blade clattering across the floor. Rahul collapsed, the cold linoleum biting his skin. The girl's face hovered above, her tears splashing his cheek. Mister, please, don't die! she sobbed, her tiny hands clutching his. Rahul's lips twitched, trying to form words. It's… okay, kid. His voice was a rasp, barely there. But the words wouldn't come. The fluorescent lights dimmed, the beeping monitors fading to a distant hum. His thoughts drifted-his parents' faces, long forgotten, a med school exam he barely passed, the lonely nights wondering if he'd ever done enough. Darkness swallowed him. A jolt. A mop handle clattered against a bucket, the sharp scent of bleach stinging his nose. Harold Quentin blinked, his head pounding, standing in a dim Brooklyn hospital hallway. A janitor's uniform clung to his unfamiliar frame, loose and scratchy. His hands, calloused and strange, gripped the mop like it was all that tethered him to reality. What the hell just happened.