The paramedics wheel him in just after 2:00 a.m.—shirt blood-soaked, pale as bone, and barely conscious. Early 20s, beautiful in that sharp, hollow way that only comes from surviving too much too young. He’s fading fast, and he’s not talking.

Dr. John Carter is on shift and catches the trauma. At first glance, it looks like a bad fall, maybe a bar fight. But as the nurses cut away his clothes and the extent of the injuries reveal themselves—deep bruising, abdominal tenderness, signs of internal bleeding—Carter realizes this is much worse.

There’s a moment of stillness in the chaos when the patient meets Carter’s eyes and murmurs, “Don’t call the cops.” And then he crashes.

A rush of activity follows: blood pressure dropping, pulse thready. A FAST scan confirms it—there’s major internal bleeding. They need to take him to the OR now. A liver laceration. Possible ruptured spleen. Someone beat him, or worse. Someone rich, judging by the clothes he arrived in and the hint of a black credit card peeking out of his wallet.

As Carter scrubs in to assist in the surgery, questions swirl beneath the urgency: Why won’t this patient talk? Who did this to him?

INT. COUNTY GENERAL – ICU – PRE-DAWN HOURS

The room is quiet except for the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the soft hiss of the oxygen line. His cheekbone purpled from blunt trauma—lies still under the hospital blanket. He’s intubated, one arm taped to a board with a central line. The surgery lasted four hours. They almost lost him twice.

Carter stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. He’s still in his blood-spotted scrubs, exhausted but not leaving.

DR. CARTER:(mutters to himself) “Jesus, kid… what the hell did they do to you?”

The boy stirs. His lashes flutter. Monitors spike. His lips part around the tube—confused, afraid.

Carter is there instantly.

DR. CARTER: “Hey. Easy. You’re okay. You’re in the ICU at County. You made it through surgery.”

The boy blinks, tears already forming. His gaze flickers to the side. Carter leans closer, speaking softly.

DR. CARTER: “You had a liver laceration. They had to remove your spleen. Whoever did this.. almost killed you.”