Liam took a moment to collect his thoughts. The elderly woman before him was severely injured, a result of the breach that had occurred just the day before. It was the fourth such incident in a year, after more than twenty years without any.
Her wounds were deep and complicated, involving significant internal injuries. The room buzzed with the muted urgency of the operating room, the hum of machines, and the quiet murmurs of the staff.
Another thunderous shot from the MAC-Guns echoed through the building. Although the monsters within the city had been eliminated, the cannons fired almost daily now.
"And still..." Liam bit his tongue and refocused on the task at hand.
"Ready, Nurse Santina?" he asked as he checked the instruments of the precision robotic arm suspended before him. The arm was a marvel of technology, capable of executing the tiniest movements that even the steadiest surgeon's hands could not achieve.
But the robotic arm was only as good as its operator. And in this case, that operator was Liam. He still wasn't sure if, at such a young age, he should—or even was allowed—to be performing surgeries. Sometimes he wondered if he owed his position to his abilities or just the times they were living in. Probably both.
Nurse Santina nodded. In these moments, she was fortunately much more professional than usual. "All set, Dr. Quinn. The anesthesia is working, and her vital signs are relatively stable."
Liam took a deep breath and grasped the controls of the robotic arm. The screens in front of him displayed an enlarged view of the surgical field—a gaping wound that urgently needed repair.
The first steps were critical: removing the shattered bone fragments and locating the bleeding points. Each movement required utmost precision and focus.
With a gentle pressure on the controls, Liam guided the robotic arm to the injured area. The arm moved smoothly, directed solely by Liam's steady hand. Piece by piece, he removed the damaged parts, carefully monitoring the blood flow to avoid harming any vital vessels.
"Bone fragments removed," he murmured quietly, checking the progress of the operation. "Now, to stop the bleeding."
The woman on the table was old, her body bearing the marks of a long life. But Liam had seen all kinds of patients: some old enough for two lifetimes and others whose lives had barely begun.
And they almost always came to him on the brink of death for the same reason: demon attacks.
The robotic arm continued its work, closing blood vessels and stitching up damaged tissue with a precision achievable only through the combination of human guidance and mechanical accuracy.
Outside, the MAC-Guns boomed again. The people in the city were likely exhausted, injured, and mourning the lost. But Liam's work was far from over. His hands trembled slightly, a sign of the nervous tension he had felt over the past days.
Fortunately, the robotic arm remained perfectly steady.
And still, with every life he saved, he couldn't forget the faces of the patients he had lost, despite all his efforts.
"Damn me for being a doctor..." he whispered softly.
"Almost done," he then said after a while, his voice calm as he placed the final stitches. Nurse Santina handed him the last instruments needed.
"How is she?" Liam asked as he finished the operation.
"Stable vital signs, but we need to keep monitoring her," Nurse Santina replied as she began preparing the woman for transport to the intensive care unit.
Liam nodded and stepped back. He felt exhausted. And dissatisfied.
Not with the operation. Liam knew that the woman would have died without his intervention—just like many of his other patients.
But that was the problem. The fact that there were demon victims at all. All Liam could do was try to save the few survivors. It wasn't enough.
But that was a thought for another day.
Nurse Santina wheeled the stabilized patient out of the station. As she left the room, Liam collapsed into a chair. His head fell back, and he closed his eyes.
He was truly exhausted. He had been in the emergency room non-stop since the previous day. Even when there was no breach, there were always victims from the outer district. But after a breach, the hospital was swarming with the dying.
Liam had only taken a brief break in the last twenty-four hours, grabbing a sandwich and a much-needed coffee. And he couldn't just take another now. He sighed, stood up, and began organizing his equipment.
Normally, this would be a job for the nurses. Another doctor might have stepped out for a smoke after such a delicate operation, but Liam was ironically still too young to buy cigarettes.
He smirked at the thought. A seventeen year old doctor was acceptable in the city, but cigarettes were off-limits until eighteen. Then again, Liam was not a typical seventeen year old—not by a long shot.
But there was another reason he always organized his station himself. It was his space, and it had to meet his standards. He couldn't allow anyone to find out what else he was up to in there.
Once everything was back in order, including the vials he had collected today, there was an unexpected knock at the door.
"Dr. Quinn?" called a female voice. Liam recognized it immediately. It was his supervisor.
"Dr. Amber, please come in," he called back, straightening his posture.
The door opened, revealing a woman in a white doctors coat. She must have been quite intimidating in her younger days, and even now, as an older woman, she had an air of having seen it all.
Maybe it was just the face of an overworked doctor. Liam wasn't sure what had come first with Dr. Amber—the signs of age or the expression that looked like she wanted to personally slap every patient herself.
Liam cleared his throat. "What can I do for you?"
Then he frowned, "Are there still injured patients?" He was already standing up, ready to head to the reception area.
Dr. Amber stopped him by raising a hand. She was much shorter than Liam.
"Dr. Liam, please sit down. The remaining patients who were not in immediate danger have been transferred to another district on my orders." Her voice was surprisingly youthful and strong.
"Why is that?" Liam asked. As he instinctively moved to sit back down, he nearly missed the chair, keeping his eyes fixed on his supervisor.
Dr. Amber watched him silently, then shook her head. "That's why," she said, leaning against the closed door.
She sighed, and Liam felt a bit uneasy, as if she were about to say something...
"How old are you again, Dr. Liam?" she finally asked.
Liam almost smiled at how his thought had come true. "Nearly two decades," he replied with a smile.
Dr. Amber grimaced. "You mean underage?"
Liam shrugged. "I find the idea of equating competence with age really foolish and wasteful. I—"
"I'm well aware that you're a very capable doctor," Dr. Amber interrupted sharply. "I also know you completed a five-year training in just one year. And I know, that you know this would never have been allowed under normal circumstances."
"Glad to know you think so highly of me."
"But," she said decisively, "you're still human. Twenty-four hours is enough for today. Take tomorrow off. I have no use for tired doctors."
She looked him up and down. Liam was painfully aware of his current appearance. His eyes burned with exhaustion. At least, thanks to his short hair, there wasn't much else to see there.
Dr. Amber's tone left no room for argument, so Liam exhaled deeply and nodded. She took his response skeptically and slowly opened the door.
Yet, just as she was about to leave, she paused.
"Dr. Liam, one more thing," she said hesitantly, no longer as stern as before.
Liam was a bit surprised. "Yes?" he asked curiously.
"Is it true that you never wanted to be a doctor?"
Liam remained silent. His eyes drifted away from Dr. Amber's figure.
"I still don't want to be," he finally said.
Dr. Amber showed no particular reaction. "I see," she simply said before leaving and closing the door behind her.
Alone again, Liam let his head fall back.
Being a doctor. What made a good doctor? What did it mean to save lives?
Could he do more?
With these thoughts, Liam closed his eyes and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.