She probably has a few minutes more. Then she's fucked. For good.
Blood seeped from her wounds, smearing the tiles as she dragged herself into the emergency room. A dark trail stretched behind her. Conversations died. Patients and nurses froze, eyes wide. It might have been the bruises mottling her skin in shades of purple and green — or the heavy shotgun gripped in her left hand.
How could a body that broken still hold such a weapon? they thought.
Her hair clung to her face in matted streaks. One eye swollen shut, shards of metal and glass lodged in her flesh, but her battered body somehow propelled itself forward, right hand clutching the counter as though sheer will alone could keep the world from swallowing her.
Not one soul in that room moved.
In front of her, a nurse gripped the phone as if her life depended on it. Her knuckles were pale white with terror as her eyes darted from the crimson smear on the counter to the gun now levelled at her head. Her stomach knotted, legs trembling, a warm trickle running down her thighs, but she dared not move a muscle.
"Try calling the police, and I'll blow your head off." Her finger tightened on the trigger.
The nurse broke into sobs. Others choked back cries of their own
"Sur... geon" The woman gasped.
"I'm s...sorry, w-what? "
The barrel of the shotgun jerked left and right, sending the people in the room into more panic.
"Get me a surgeon. Now."
The command cracked through the room like a whip.
"That would be me"
A figure emerged from the hallway in scrubs and a mask, gloved hands unnervingly steady. He looked at her not with fear, but with the cool detachment of a doctor cataloguing injuries. He did not flinch at the gun. He did not flinch at the blood. His gaze lingered on her face, then slid downward.
Her chest rose and fell in harsh, uneven pulls.
Her knees buckled as she staggered toward him. The gold in her eyes vanished in a blink — irises bled black, swallowing the whites like ink unfurling in water. It was an otherworldly void, and it sought him and him alone.
Then it was gone as consciousness fled.
The man moved quicker than the rest, catching her under the arms before she hit the floor. Around them, the ward erupted—nurses shouting, feet scraping, someone calling for restraints, another for a crash cart. Patients let out muffled cries, fear and relief spilling from every corner.
Amidst the chaos, he didn't loosen his hold, steadying her weight against him as if the commotion was nothing but a distant storm. His gaze fixed on her face, green irises lit with a manic sheen. His fingers twitched against her arm, fighting the urge to jolt her to wakefulness, just to see those eyes back onto his again.
The look was gone in an instant, veiled once more, leaving only the facade of control in its place.