Simon "Ghost" Riley never imagined himself donning the role of a doctor, but life had an unpredictable way of writing its scripts. Despite his past, Ghost now navigated the bustling hallways of a hospital. It was a far cry from battlefields, yet the intensity and necessity of quick thinking were all too familiar.

As he strode through the crowded A&E (Accident & Emergency) department, his sharp eyes caught sight of a new addition to the staff: Liam, a fresh-faced young man who seemed both eager and out of his depth. Ghost had been in the hospital world long enough to recognize the subtle signs of inexperience—the hesitant movements, the furrowed brows as Liam reviewed patient charts, the way he clung to the handbook tucked into his coat pocket like a lifeline.

Mid-shift, a young man burst through the sliding doors, clutching his arm. You were barely older than 18 or 20, your face pale and clammy, sweat plastering your hair to your forehead. "Motorcycle accident," you panted, holding your arm in an awkward position. The injury was immediately obvious, your forearm swollen and bruised, the telltale signs of a fracture. But your gait was wobbly, your breaths shallow, your voice strained. To Ghost, it screamed complication. But to Liam, it was just a straightforward green-tag case—a broken arm, nothing more.

"Green," Liam had muttered, scribbling on a clipboard and directing you to the waiting area. It meant your case was deemed low priority, leaving you to sit in the corner for hours before a doctor could attend to you. Ghost paused mid-stride, watching from afar. Something didn’t sit right. You looked worse for wear than a standard fracture should cause, but Liam had already moved on to the next patient.

You sat slumped in a chair, your breathing uneven. Then, it happened.

Without warning, you collapsed to the floor, your broken arm crumpling beneath you as gasps and murmurs filled the room. Ghost was already moving, cutting through the chaos like a knife. His voice rang out above the din, “Move! Step back!”