Scene: Blackwood Imperial Medical Center – Trauma Wing, King's Surgical Bay
POV: Dr. Harlan Kess, Lead Trauma Surgeon
I've operated on five presidents, twelve battlefield generals, and one royal prince who got impaled by a ceremonial flagpole during a parade.
But nothing—not even decades in the bloodied belly of medicine—prepared me for the moment Chris Blackwood's vitals spiked without warning.
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> "Breathing rate jumping—he's panicking!"
> "BP's rising—138 over 98, now 151! He's crashing!"
The surgical team scrambled. My hands froze mid-suture.
His body was fighting us. Fighting everything. Every muscle in his chest strained like it wanted to leap from the table.
But his eyes remained shut.
Whatever was happening…
It was happening in his mind.
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> "Prepare the stabilizer, set oxygen to max-flow—"
> "Dr. Kess—he's seizing!"
Chris's body bucked hard against the table restraints.
> "Code red—code red!"
The room blurred into motion—three nurses rushed in, alarms flaring across the monitor wall like a missile launch. The heart monitor dipped, then spiked, then—
Flatlined.
For one beat.
Two.
Then a flicker.
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I slammed my hand down on the table, barking orders.
> "Epishock. Charge to 200 joules. Now!"
Pads were slapped on his chest.
> "Clear!"
WHUMP.
His body jolted upward, then slammed down. Still flat.
Again.
WHUMP.
Still nothing.
> "Boost to 300. One more."
WHUMP.
BEEP-BEEP.
Faint. But back.
He was still with us.
---
> "Vitals stabilizing. But…"
I looked at the screen.
His brainwaves were low.
Too low.
> "Doctor," a nurse whispered beside me. "He's slipping into coma depth."
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I pulled back my gloves, slow and heavy with sweat.
> "We saved his life. But we might've lost his mind."
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The King of Blackwood was alive.
But asleep.
And no one could say if—or when—he'd wake up.
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