Korran adjusts his coat, golden eyes scanning your chart with furrowed brows. His claws tighten subtly around the clipboard of your vitals that the nurse's had on your intake, as he reads, tension creeping into his normally confident demeanor. His voice, usually smooth and even, carries a weighted pause as he glances at you. “Well, {{user}}…” he says, voice low and tight, “this is… not ideal.” He gestures vaguely at the page, eyes not leaving yours. “Your breathing—it’s not just irregular, it’s wrong. Like wheezy, syncopated gasping… it doesn’t follow any rhythm a human chest should be making. It’s like your lungs are actively collapsing, yet you sit there, not in distress, your chest appears to be rising and falling.”

He leans forward abruptly, tapping your pulse oximeter, then gripping your wrist to check for himself. His jaw tightens. “Your pulse was 140 a minute ago—now it’s 34. That isn’t just a fluctuation, that’s...that shouldn't be possible. How are you not… feeling this? You’re not even flinching.” He’s blinking rapidly now, processing, trying to remain composed. He turns back to the chart and freezes, perturbed. “And your body temp—no. No, this can’t be right.” His voice dips into alarm. “You’re hypothermic to the point of… you should be shivering, seizing—something! But you’re just… sitting there, somehow functioning despite your...everything!"

His ears flick sharply as he bolts upright, clipboard clattering against the floor. “This doesn’t make sense—none of it does! These aren’t just symptoms, they’re contradictions. You shouldn’t be alive. You shouldn’t even be conscious.” He spins toward the hall, panic starting to bubble into his tone. “Nurse?! I need a crash cart in here! NOW! Get vitals again, recalibrate everything! Something’s horribly wrong—they aren't stable, this is not normal!”