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Medical Center
Operating Room 2
Adam was leading the surgery, with Dr. Burke as his first assistant. No nurses, no anesthesiologist—just the two of them working on a patient whose blood was infected with some unknown neurological virus.
Upstairs, in the observation room…
The Chief of Surgery, Richard, who'd just woken up, shuffled in slowly, lugging an oxygen tank and taking deep breaths from it.
"Preston, Adam, how're you guys holding up?"
Richard eyed them closely and added, "The isolation OR is being prepped, and protective gear's on its way from storage. If you can't finish this surgery, just stabilize her, wrap her up, and send her to isolation."
"Dr. Duncan?"
Burke glanced at Adam. This time, he was just the assistant—and honestly, he had no clue how long Adam's flashy protective suit could last.
"We've got this, Chief," Adam said with a grin. "Before Burke's suit battery runs out, he can step out, and we'll swap in someone else to assist me. Easy peasy."
"You sure about that?" Richard asked, worry creasing his face. "This surgery's way more complicated than we thought. Could hit all kinds of snags—not something you wrap up in an hour or two. How long can that… thing of yours hold out?"
"I'm sure," Adam replied, still focused on the surgery. "This suit? It's built to spacesuit standards but customized for me—my body, my job. Tailored to fit like a glove.
Take regular spacesuits: their life-support packs have two oxygen tanks, good for 6.5 to 8 hours.
That's designed with stuff like spacecraft weight limits, spacewalk durations, and how much an astronaut can carry in mind.
But my suit? It doesn't need to go to space, and I'm pretty strong myself. 😎
So when I had it made, I maxed out the life-support system.
The oxygen tanks are bigger—doubled up, actually.
In theory, it's got 72 hours of oxygen.
Plus, the drink pouch and fruit bars inside? Enough energy for 72 hours too.
So unless this surgery drags on for three days straight, I'm golden."
"…"
Everyone went quiet after Adam dropped that explanation.
After a long pause…
Richard sucked on his oxygen a few times before muttering, "Dr. Duncan, if I'm remembering right, a spacesuit weighs at least 120 kilos—minimum.
We're on Earth here, no microgravity to lighten the load. That's a solid 120 kilos-plus. And you doubled it? You sure you can handle that weight for so long?"
"Chief, it's not as wild as you're thinking," Adam said with a laugh, still operating. "Normal spacesuits are bulky as heck. Mine's been slimmed down—custom-cut to be as sleek… er, as practical as possible for surgery.
The weight's already way lighter.
It just needs to block viruses, keep me sealed off—not handle extreme heat, cold, radiation, wear-and-tear, or all that jazz real spacesuits deal with.
Even with the beefed-up oxygen tanks, it's only about 150 kilos. I can rock this for 72 hours, no sweat."
"…"
The observation room upstairs was now packed with doctors who'd rushed over to watch. When they heard this, the whole place went dead silent again. They just stared at each other, totally lost for words.
It's not that they were clueless.
They just didn't know where to start with the roasting.
"Only" 150 kilos?
"No sweat" for 72 hours?
Is this guy even human?
Everyone instantly thought of Adam's legendary stamina.
Cue the men going quiet with envy and the women tearing up, thinking, "If I had that strength—forget the looks or money—I'd be unstoppable too!"
A bunch of eyes flicked to Cristina.
So that insane giant tumor surgery from before? Adam really did hold up a mountain solo, breezing through hours of grunt work—while she just coasted along, barely lifting a finger!
Cristina didn't flinch. She kept her cool, staring down at the surgery like nothing was up.
"I'm not embarrassed—you're the ones making it weird." 😏
"Dr. Duncan, that suit must've cost a fortune, right?" a young doctor piped up, unable to hold back.
"It's alright," Adam said with a chuckle. "The custom job's what jacks up the price."
"A spacesuit's gotta be a few million bucks at least, yeah?" the young doc pressed.
"Heh," Adam just laughed, not denying it.
The other doctors shot the kid some serious side-eye.
Bro, are you for real?
A few million's a fortune to regular folks—even most doctors.
But to a billionaire? It's pocket change for a toy. Why make a fuss?
And are you trying to rub it in and crush our fragile souls?
"Yup, figures," the young doc mumbled, oblivious to the glares. "You say 'it's alright,' but the custom fee's the big hit? So this thing's probably, what, ten million? Just for some random emergency someday? That's…"
Adam didn't bite this time—just smiled and kept working.
He couldn't exactly keep chatting about it.
Truth is, the custom design did cost a few million bucks.
And he didn't stop at one suit.
The tight-fit, surgery-ready Duncan Special? Check.
But regular space-grade protective gear? No way Adam was skipping that.
A few million's nothing to him—he grabbed backups too.
This is a mashup world of dangerous TV dramas, after all. Who knows when you'll need it?
And it's not just him.
Juno's a doctor, Karen's a nurse—both stuck in the hospital all the time.
If a contagious virus crisis like today's hits and they don't have proper gear, what then?
Adam's dead sure this won't be a one-off.
So when he ordered, he went big—group deal style.
Custom surgery suits for Juno and Karen too, tailored to fit them perfectly.
Total cost? Twenty million bucks.
But obviously, it's worth every penny.
Even if they sit unused most days, in a clutch moment like this—facing an unknown neurological virus—it keeps Adam safe, lets him save lives, and racks up those lifespan points.
Take Mark Sloan, for instance. Selfish jerk, sure, but he's not wrong.
Without this prepped gear, even Adam—with his top-tier immune system—would've had to think twice about risking it.
And honestly?
Why gamble when money can fix it? 💸
(End of Chapter)