The on-call room was dim, stale air heavy with old coffee and disinfectant. Reyes didn't bother locking the door—he shoved it closed with his shoulder, already grabbing the nurse by her waist. Her back hit the wall with a thud, her breath catching in surprise before it melted into something else.
"Reyes—" she gasped, voice half-scolding, half-desperate.
"You said come find you," he muttered against her skin, lips grazing her jaw. "I found you."
His hands were rough, impatient, tugging at the drawstring of her scrubs. As the strings unraveled he turned her around, bent her over and began pounding his way, into her pussy.
"What if someone—" she started.
"Let them hear," Reyes cut in, his grin all teeth. "Half this hospital's thought about it anyway."
He slammed into her harder and harder each stroke, he felt her pussy getting wetter and creamier.
Up above, in the vent nobody looked at, a tiny red light blinked steady. Watching. Recording.
"Say my name," Reyes whispered into her ear, not a request but a demand.
Her answer came in movement, not words—she kneeled down, and sank Reyes cock deep down her throat, slow stroking. Mid choking , her eyes began to roll back , as spit bubbles formed around his cock.
She removed her mouth — don't fucking stop until I say , whispered Reyes. Her gasps, began to sound louder. He grabbed her by her head and began to thrust into her mouth, he paced it so perfectly you could imagine the rhythm .
"Click, Click Click" he kept thrusting until he moaned " goshhhhhh i fucking love the way you suck my cock" He backed out and came all over her face white stains everywhere .
When it ended, silence collapsed heavy over them. Only the sound of their ragged breathing filled the room. The cot was a wreck, her scrubs askew, his hair damp. Neither of them noticed the faint mechanical whir in the vent overhead. The camera shut itself down.
By sunrise, gossip ran through Montrary Soul like infection in blood. Nurses huddled in pairs, whispering behind clipboards. Interns grinned like kids in a locker room. Every phone screen flashed the same thing.
Maya G walked in with coffee and zero tolerance. She caught the change in the air immediately—the guilty hush when she passed, the quick glance away. But the gurney crashing through the ER doors came first.
"Male, late twenties!" an EMT shouted. "Car crash—or that's what dispatch said. Watch his chest."
Maya snapped her gloves on. His body wasn't crashing. It was ripping itself open and sewing itself shut in the same breath. Flesh sealed in crooked seams, then burst again with a wet pop. Blood pooled, dried, then poured fresh like the body couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
"Vitals ninety and tanking!" a nurse called.
"Insulated forceps. A full tray of clamps—line them like a ladder," Maya barked.
The resident beside her froze. "But if he's regenerating, maybe we shouldn't—"
"He's regenerating wrong. That's why he's here." She jammed the forceps in, finding the artery. Heat radiated through the tool, her arm aching. "Move, or watch him bleed himself alive."
Hands scrambled. Clamps clicked. Nurses swore. Maya guided them, steady and fast, building an ugly silver skeleton across his chest. The flesh tried to resist, pulsing against metal, but steel won. The regeneration slowed.
Blood sprayed once more, hot across her sleeve. Maya barely blinked. "Clamp tighter. Don't let him undo us."
Across the ER, phones buzzed again. Not alarms—notifications. Nurses ducked heads, interns smirked, gossip spread like smoke. Maya's jaw tightened, but she didn't look up.
"Chilled saline, slow drip," she ordered. "And pray it doesn't trigger a seizure."
The patient convulsed once, clamps rattling. Nurses scrambled to hold him steady. The monitor screamed, then dipped back into green. Alive. Barely.
By mid-shift, the whispers reached a fever pitch. Two nurses at the vending machine gasped over a phone. One choked on a laugh, tried to hide it.
Maya wiped her hands clean and cut them a look sharp enough to slice glass. "Focus. If I catch you watching a video while someone dies, you'll be cleaning morgue floors until your shoes rot."
Ten minutes later, Reyes stormed into the staff lounge. His hair perfect. His composure not.
"You think this is funny?" he snapped, eyes darting around. No one answered.
Maya entered behind him, sipping burnt coffee like it was water. "I don't care who you fuck," she said, voice cold. "I care when it distracts staff from saving lives."
"It's a setup," Reyes said quickly. "Somebody planted a camera."
"You planted yourself." She stepped in, close enough to cut his ego down to size. "Respect isn't earned on a cot beneath a vent. It's earned on the floor."
Laughter broke out—too quick, too sharp—and then died under Maya's glare.
"Phones away," she ordered. "Next person I see with their head down better be coding a patient."
The room emptied fast. Reyes stayed, jaw tight, humiliation raw.
Later, the regenerating patient was sedated, the clamps holding like a steel spine. Labs printed ugly truths: cells multiplying out of control, heat signatures inhuman. No drugs, no toxins—just the body turning against itself.
Maya logged orders and left the room, exhaustion wearing her bones. Her phone buzzed. Anonymous sender. Subject line: everyone has secrets.
She opened it. A screenshot from the on-call room. Reyes. The nurse. The cot. Perfect clarity.
Below it: we clean up everything.
Her pulse kicked hard. She deleted the email without hesitation.
Evening fell. The ER calmed, but calm never lasted here. Maya walked the east wing for five minutes of quiet. The tiles gleamed too clean, like someone had scrubbed the soul out of them.
Then came the sound.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
A mop, steady, patient.
Maya turned the corner. Empty hall. Lights reflecting bright off the floor.
"Dr. G!" A young nurse jogged up, panicked. "Trauma Two alarms—one clamp's slipping!"
Maya spun back without looking up. She didn't need to.
The patient writhed, fighting the cage of metal. The top clamp wobbled, tearing at flesh. "Hold him," Maya snapped. Nurses pinned him down while she reset the rung. Blood spurted; monitors wailed. Then, finally, steady again.
"If this bastard survives, I'm billing him for the hardware," she muttered, earning a shaky laugh from the nurse.
From the doorway, Reyes lingered, face unreadable.
"You need something?" Maya asked, not looking.
He swallowed. "No."
"Then be something."
He left, pride bleeding worse than the patient.
By shift's end, the ER had devoured another day. Discharges, deaths, gossip. Nothing new.
On Maya's desk, a sticky note waited in neat handwriting:
Admin 08:00. HR 08:30. Bring policies.
Underneath, a second line in different pen:
Check your vents.
Maya folded it once, slid it into the drawer, and shut it.
Out in the hall, a floor buffer hummed, leaving the tiles spotless. The janitor pushed it slow, steady. His eyes never lifted from the shine.
He didn't need to.