INT. HOSPITAL - DAY

A young boy, maybe 10, with a scowl permanently etched on his face, is racing down the grimy hospital hallway, clutching his weirdly bent arm. His expression is filled with frustration and rage as he darts glances over his shoulder. His super mean mom, with a permanent scowl, is power-walking behind him, barking orders at the TOXIC, ANGRY DOCTORS chasing after him with unsettling medical tools in their hands.

Boy: (Yelling) "Fuck this place! I ain't lettin' you assholes touch my arm again! You already fucked it up once!"

Mean Mom: (Screaming) "Stop bein' such a little bitch! You’re gonna let them break that arm again, and you’ll thank me for it!"

Boy: "Like hell I will! You can shove that thank-you up your—"

The boy spots the elevator ahead, the doors closing slowly. He sprints toward it, huffing and panting.

Doctor #1: (Sneering) "Run, you little shit. We'll catch you, and you’ll wish we only broke your arm!"

Doctor #2: "Yeah, we’ve got a cactus with your name on it!"