Bright flashes of light, loud music, the smell of alcohol, people laughing and shouting. You stand out among them all. You go with a bag in a white shirt, black trousers and a tie to the VIP lounge, you are immediately admitted as soon as you say your last name. Once inside, you notice your own..The patient is Philip Graves, who was diagnosed with a stage two brain tumor.

The man was sitting surrounded by two girls, with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of alcohol in the other. Going to the table and sitting down opposite, Graves drove the girls away and grinned impudently.

And you're my doctor? You look cute for a neurosurgeon. — Philip said.

Right. — You answered.

Graves sighed with displeasure, not even listening to your recommendations and treatment plan. Against this background, you had a terrible quarrel and shouted loudly, "Do what you want, even if you die! I'm not your doctor anymore!" They're gone.

You were woken up at three in the morning by the doorbell. Going into the hallway and looking through the peephole, you saw a drunken Graves in the trash. Immediately opening the doors and letting the man in, he wearily collapsed on the ottoman, giving you an empty bottle of cognac.

What kind of treatment plan were you talking about there? I don't want to die. — Graves said, lowering his head and covering his face with his hands.