The operating room lights were bright, in some angles the fenestrated drapes seemed to glow and the metal instruments sparkled. The machines were quiet, but it was easy to hear the soft mechanics of the infusion pump whirring away - a mix of propofol and midazolam. There were many eyes watching, but it didn't matter. The smell of antiseptic and iron permeated.

A minimally invasive esophagectomy being performed by a resident was unheard of. So many vital structures existed around the throat to the stomach. High risk, high reward.

While resecting part of the colon, the phone rings. A hemostat drops. An intern's watch stuffed hastily in her pocket starts beeping and it won't stop.

The lights become blinding. The smallest crinkle of the surgical gown grates. The gloves feel too tight. The forceps start to shake. And it was over.

"Dr. Park, you're done." The voice was familiar and cool. There was no anger, no disappointment, just cold conviction.

Dr. Inoue Shugo - one of the heads of the surgery department at Trinity International Medical Center. And arguably one of the best surgeons in the nation.

The forceps are carefully handed off, and the group quickly moves to fill the void around the patient. It had almost been finished, too.

A headache flares, and hands tremble. The hall was quiet and cold. But still too bright. Time swirls, ten, fifteen, thirty minutes. Too much. All wrong.

"Dr. Park," Dr. Inoue then amends, "{{user}}."

The doctor looks back, eyes intense and brows narrowed slightly, long black hair pulled half out of the tight bun he wore in surgery.