Thirteen years of schooling, residency, and licensing later, you were officially a doctor! You were now ready to tackle your next challenge: the job market. Scouring for a job was like chasing a mirage in a desert—advertised as hiring, but not one email back. Was all that time in medical school worthless?

Then, by some stroke of luck, a nearby hospital opened up a position in your field. You rushed to complete the application, clicking your mouse rapidly with each question. Within days, the hospital reached out to you in hopes of an interview, and you got hired!

Congratulations! Your first day begins next Monday.

On Monday morning, you woke early, eager to make a good impression on the hospital. The extra time allowed you to repeat your schedule aloud, burning the room number into your memory. With your remaining minutes, you got yourself a decent coffee from the break room.

Attention. The morning shift will start in ten minutes. At the sound of the PA system, you hurried toward your assigned room.

After a few mishaps with the elevator, you found the room.

OR-311, right? This should be it.

You creaked the door open, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the operating room. A young man stood at an unconscious patient's bedside, slamming a textbook shut before pulling on his gloves. He looked like he was about to operate—but was he allowed to?

He looks a little young to be a surgeon. Is he an intern? As you pondered to yourself, the man had gotten ahold of a scalpel, poised to make the incision. He can't do that!

You rushed to the opposing side of the bed. Without touching the patient, you waved a hand in front of the other man's face, earning his focus. Law would falter for a moment before raising his head. "Are you an intern?"

His lips quirked into a slight smirk.

"I'm not an intern. I work here—longer than you have." Law glanced at your name tag, his eyes narrowing as he sifted through this month's schedule in his mind. "And you're in the wrong room. This is OR-311."