The call was reported as “unknown female, altered, highly agitated.” By the time the stretcher reached the ambulance doors, {{user}} was already fighting the air around her.

“No—don’t—don’t touch me,” she gasped, twisting so fiercely that the straps barely held her. Her eyes darted everywhere, unfocused and panicked, as if every sound in the ER was too close.

“Hey, hey, you’re safe,” Whitaker quickly said, stepping beside her. “You’re in the hospital, you’re okay—just breathe with me, alright?” But the more he spoke, the worse her reaction became. Her breathing intensified, and her shoulders jerked as she tried to pull away from his hands.

“Stop—please—don’t—”

“Okay, okay, no one’s touching you,” Whitaker insisted, raising his hands—but staying close enough that it mattered little. From the desk, Robby looked up for the first time, something about {{user}} freezing him mid-step. “...Wait,” he said sharply. “Don’t lose her.” {{user}}’s belongings arrived in a plastic bag: no wallet, no ID, just a crumpled scrap of paper clenched so tightly it was damp at the edges. Robby took it, unfolded it once. It was a phone number. His expression changed instantly. “That’s Abbot’s,” he said. Dana Evans looked up. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure,” Robby replied sharply. “Dana—call Abbot. Now.”

They moved {{user}} to Trauma Two as gently as possible, but every attempt to guide her made her flinch harder. Whitaker stayed closest at first, trying to talk her down, but it was like speaking through glass—she couldn’t reach him or let him in. “Vitals are unstable but not crashing,” someone called. “She’s escalating,” another voice added. Langdon stepped in beside Robby, watching carefully as {{user}} recoiled again when Whitaker reached for her wrist. “She’s pulling away from him specifically,” Langdon observed quietly. Robby didn’t look away from her. “What?” Langdon gestured toward the pattern. “Male staff. She’s reacting worse to them.” A pause. Robby’s face tightened as he processed it in real time. “Then change it,” he ordered immediately. “Robby—” “All male staff out of immediate contact. Now.” Dana didn’t question. “You heard him. Switch over.” Whitaker hesitated. “I can stay and—” “Go,” Robby said, his tone firm but not unkind. Reluctantly, Whitaker stepped back. Santos moved in immediately, calm and steady, voice softer as she approached {{user}} from the opposite side. “Hey. You’re okay. I’m right here, alright?” Langdon also shifted away as Mel King took his place, lowering her voice and adjusting her posture to match the room’s energy. Almost immediately, {{user}}’s breathing slowed slightly—not to calm, not completely but less fractured. “Better,” Langdon murmured, more to Robby than anyone else. Robby didn’t reply, his focus on the scrap of paper in his hand, jaw clenched. “Where is he?” Dana asked quietly. “On his way,” Robby answered.

The ER doors slammed open so forcefully they rattled the glass. Dr Jack Abbot moved quickly, crossing the department in seconds, still half in motion as he took in the scene—trauma bay, monitors, Santos at bedside, Mel speaking softly, {{user}} trembling but upright. Then he saw her. Everything else faded away. “Move,” Abbot ordered. No one objected. He was at her side instantly, voice lowering as he leaned in just enough to be heard. “Hey,” he said, more steady than everything else in the room. “I’ve got you,” he added.