A voice cut through the chatter of interns. “Frank, you just don’t get it, do you?”Lisa’s heels clicked against the stone, her tone sharp enough to slice through the drizzle. He turned. “Get what?”“That you’re finished here.” She folded her arms, flawless beneath the white coat she hadn’t earned half as hard as he had. “You embarrassed me in front of everyone, again. You can’t just break protocol because you think you’re smarter than the system.”Frank exhaled slowly. “The patient would’ve died if I’d waited for the CT approval.”“Rules exist for a reason.” Her friends, three residents and the rich new hire, Dr. Evan Roth, hovered behind her like spectators waiting for a punchline.Roth smirked. “Some people never learn when to quit playing hero.”“I wasn’t playing,” Frank said. “I was saving a life.”Lisa’s laugh was brittle. “You’re impossible. You think being reckless makes you noble? No, it makes you a liability.”“I’m a surgeon,” he said quietly. “You used to believe in that.”

The news broke before dawn.Every local station carried the same grainy footage: a soaked man kneeling in a Chicago alley, his hands working with impossible precision, a dying stranger gasping back to life beneath a jittering phone light.The caption read: MYSTERY DOCTOR SAVES MAN AFTER CRASH.White House, Situation Room — 04:17 A.M.Rain tapped the bullet-proof glass as monitors replayed the clip. Agent Cole stood beside the President’s chief of staff, arms crossed, jaw locked. “He doesn’t look military,” the chief said. “Who is he?”Cole kept his voice even. “Former trauma surgeon. Frank Mercer. Dismissed from St. Mary’s last month. Record shows disciplinary action for procedural violations.”“Yet he revived our bodyguard with scrap metal.” The chief leaned forward. “That’s not violation, that’s genius.”“Or recklessness,” Cole replied. “Depends who writes the report.”Across the table, the President’s medical advisor, Dr. Eleanor Brant, pushed her glasses higher. “Mercer’s methods

Morning sunlight hit the mirrored glass of Roth Biotech Tower, turning the lobby into a gleaming reflection of everything Lisa wanted to believe she’d earned.Outside, a line of reporters shouted questions into microphones: “Is it true you knew Frank Mercer personally?”“Was he unstable?”“Did you help expose his methods?”Lisa adjusted her sunglasses and kept walking. Cameras flashed. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.Upstairs, behind soundproof doors, Dr. Victor Roth was already pacing. He turned when she entered, sleek and dangerous in his tailored suit. “Finally,” he said. “You made them wait long enough to look important.”“I am important,” she replied coolly, setting her bag down. “Or you wouldn’t have called me.”Roth’s grin was all teeth. “You always did learn fast.”He clicked the remote. Screens along the wall lit up with the same viral clip, Frank in the alley, rain-slicked and calm as chaos swirled around him. The crowd chanting, the phones, the miracle.“Two million shares

Rain fell like static, blurring the streetlights into halos. Frank moved fast through the back alleys of downtown Chicago, coat soaked, head down.Every few blocks he checked for tails, none visible, but paranoia whispered otherwise.He stopped at a closed pharmacy, jimmied the lock, and slipped inside. The faint smell of disinfectant hit him like nostalgia. The place was dark, only the red EXIT sign bleeding faint light across the shelves.He found the back office, yanked the phone line from the wall, and booted up the dusty desktop. No internet connection, but that wasn’t the point.He pulled a small device from his pocket, thumbed the power on. A tiny light blinked blue. His own system. Hidden server, off-grid, running on code he’d written during his intern days.If Roth Biotech wanted to play god, he’d show them how a mortal fights back.01:12 a.m. He opened the first drive he’d smuggled from the hospital basement. The directory was buried under a dozen layers of encryption, label

The safe-house smelled of stale coffee and metal. A single desk lamp cut a cone of light across the room; outside, sirens blurred under the rain.Frank sat in front of the cracked laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Lines of encrypted text scrolled past, green against black.Paige stepped from the kitchenette, holding two paper cups. “That thing’s been running for an hour. You even know what you’re chasing?”He didn’t look up. “A breadcrumb.”“Or bait.”He finally turned. “Same thing, depending on who eats first.”She set the coffee beside him, crossed her arms. “You think Roth would just drop coordinates on a public thread and hope you see them? Come on, Frank. It’s too neat.”“Maybe. But whoever posted it used my own cipher from five years ago. Only three people knew it existed.”Paige frowned. “Lisa?”He nodded once. “So you think she’s trying to help?”“I don’t know. She warned me once before. Or someone did, using her voice.”Paige dropped into the chair opposite him. “Wh