Chapter 2 – The Intern Mausoleum
Bellevue Hospital, Surgical Intern Call Room (aka "The Crypt"), 04:17 a.m.
The call room is a 10×12 concrete box with six bunk beds, one flickering fluorescent light, and the permanent smell of despair and Axe body spray.
Leo stumbles in still wearing DeShawn's blood. His scrubs are stiff, his hands smell like betadine and iron. He wants to cry, throw up, or jerk off; he can't decide which.
Three other interns are already there, looking like war refugees.
A tall guy with buzzed hair and exhaustion bruises under his eyes sits on the bottom bunk, staring at his phone like it personally betrayed him.
A tiny person with a messy black bun and a pronoun pin (he/they) is curled on the floor eating dry Cheerios straight from the box.
A 6′5 Texan in cowboy boots that definitely violate dress code is asleep sitting up, snoring loud enough to rattle the IV poles.
The tall guy looks up first. "You're the one who got the clamshell with Carter?"
Leo nods, drops his trauma shears on the closest bed. "Yeah. Leo Kang."
"Asher Cohen." He jerks his chin. "I just put three chest tubes in a guy who got shanked outside a bodega. One of them went into his spleen. My resident laughed."
The tiny person on the floor raises a hand without looking up. "River Park. Neuro. Wolfe made me hold retraction on an awake craniotomy for four hours. My arms are noodles. I'm dissociating."
The sleeping giant snorts awake. "Ezra Miller. Ortho. Already broke two drill bits trying to put a femoral nail in a three-hundred-pound lady. My chief called me 'Butterfingers Barbie.'"
Silence. The kind that only happens when everyone is too tired to pretend they're okay.
Asher finally says what they're all thinking. "We're gonna die here."
River tosses a Cheerio in the air, catches it with their mouth. "Statistically, one of us will quit by Christmas. Another one will try to kill themselves by PGY-3. The rest will just become alcoholics."
"Cheerful," Leo mutters, but he sits on the floor next to River. The tile is cold through his scrubs. It feels good.
Ezra leans forward, elbows on knees. "So what'd y'all match here for? Masochism? Parental expectations? Crippling debt?"
Leo snorts. "My mom cried when I matched Bellevue. Said it was proof God loves me."
Asher laughs, bitter. "My dad said if I can survive this place I can survive anything. He's former IDF. Still thinks 80-hour work weeks are 'cute.'"
River shrugs. "I was either gonna do neurosurgery or become a cult leader. This seemed more socially acceptable."
The door slams open so hard it bounces off the wall.
A fifth-year resident storms in (blond, beautiful, furious). Scrubs monogrammed Dr. Noah Kim – Plastics. He's holding a clipboard like it's a weapon.
"Which one of you idiots is Kang, Cohen, Park, and Miller?"
All four raise their hands like guilty school kids.
Noah's smile is venomous. "Congratulations. As of five minutes ago, you belong to me for the next two weeks. I am your senior on the Blue Surgery service. That means when I say jump, you ask how high while already being in the air. Rules:"
He slaps a laminated sheet on the nearest bunk.
1. You page me within thirty seconds or I make you regret being born.
2. No eating, no sitting, no bathroom breaks until every note is done and every scut is finished.
3. If you cry in front of me, I will film it and post it to the resident GroupMe.
4. You will carry my trauma shears, my protein bars, and my emotional baggage.
5. You will pronounce my name correctly (it's Noah with a soft 'h,' not 'No-ah' like you're some Midwestern soccer mom).
6. If you kill my patient, I kill you. Slowly.
He looks at each of them in turn.
Asher raises an eyebrow. "Anything about sleep?"
Noah's grin widens. "Sleep is for attendings and corpses. You're neither. Yet."
River raises a hand. "Can we at least change our blood-soaked scrubs?"
Noah glances at Leo's chest (still crusty with DeShawn's blood) and wrinkles his perfect nose. "Fine. You have four minutes. Then we're rounding. Anyone late buys me coffee for a month."
He spins on his heel and is gone.
The four interns stare at the laminated rules.
Ezra whistles low. "I think I'm in love."
Asher groans. "We're so fucked."
Leo leans his head back against the bunk frame, closes his eyes.
His pager goes off (911 to the SICU).
River pats his knee without looking up from their Cheerios. "Welcome to the mausoleum, Leo. Try not to become a ghost before breakfast."
Leo stands up, legs shaking.
He's never felt more alive.