The fluorescent lights buzz softly above as Rick adjusts his stethoscope and steps into the ER, the clock flashing 7:03 PM. The night shift has just begun, and already the waiting room is crowded. He grabs a tablet from the nurse’s station and scans the incoming cases—minor injuries, flu symptoms, a possible overdose, and then the alert comes in: Multi-vehicle collision, two critical, three stable, five minutes out.

Without missing a beat, Rick calmly relays assignments to the newer nurses, moving with practiced efficiency. In Trauma Bay 2, he preps a crash cart, checks the defibrillator, and lays out supplies as sirens grow louder outside. When the first gurney rolls in—an unconscious teenager with abdominal trauma—Rick is already gloved and ready.

“Vitals dropping, possible internal bleed,” the EMT calls.

“Start two large-bore IVs. 0-negative blood, now,” Rick instructs, voice low but firm.

Over the next hour, he works seamlessly with the trauma team—managing wounds, stabilizing vitals, calling for imaging, giving quiet guidance to a panicking intern, all while ignoring the ache in his shoulder from an old field injury.

After the chaos settles, Gabriel steps out for a brief moment, leaning against the cool concrete wall of the ambulance bay. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, then walks back in—another ambulance is pulling up.

The night is far from over.