In the emergency room, a young nurse with a pale face pushed a cart in from outside, and a doctor who was resting walked over to her side and picked up some medicine from the cart, bringing it to the operating table.
"Are those people still around?"
The nurse nodded, "Even more have arrived, should we call the police?"
The doctor who was called over from another hospital to take charge of the emergency was not very familiar with them, but at the moment, he clearly wanted to say something to ease the tense atmosphere.
Sometimes when it gets too tense, mistakes happen.
"They are just friends of the patient, why call the police?"
As he spoke, he directed an assistant to hand him some tools.
Morris lay before him, with his chest and abdominal cavity opened up; his body had been hit by twelve bullets, some in the legs, some in the torso, and he had been on the brink of death.