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Medical Center.
"Adam, here's the latest batch of applicants."
The surgical director handed Adam a list. "When are you planning to start the second surgery?"
Ever since the first case—the "Green Hat King"—ended in death, Adam hadn't moved forward with the second round of his virus-based tumor-elimination clinical research. The director was getting antsy. Brain tumor cases like these, where surgery or not it's a death sentence, weren't rare. Adam's groundbreaking project had sent ripples through the medical world—especially after he'd roped in top experts, including Dr. House, for a brainstorming session. With his own creds already solid and a heavyweight like Dr. Shepherd vouching for him, neurosurgeons everywhere were referring their hopeless cases to Adam, suggesting they join his experimental surgery. A dead horse is worth a shot as a live one, right?
So, the pool of potential patients kept growing. If it weren't for the ethics committee capping it at 12 consecutive cases, someone else running this show would've burned through all 12 by now—success or failure, done and dusted. But Adam was gunning for success, so he'd slowed things down, stacking the odds in his favor and treating the remaining 11 chances like gold.
The director, though, was the one sweating it. A lot of these patients couldn't afford delays—they were desperate and pushing hard.
"This guy," Adam said, ready for it. He took the list, scanned it, and circled a name.
"You sure?" The director hesitated, frowning. "Adam, he's new to the list. Why not pick someone from the top?"
"Nope, it's him," Adam shook his head. "The next 11 shots are critical. For the second surgery, I need a good omen—a patient with iron will. Darren Covington's a soldier, fought overseas, survived brutal battlefields. He's the one."
"Uh… alright," the director stalled, then gave in. "It's your project. Your call."
"Thanks, boss," Adam grinned.
Once the director left, Adam glanced at Darren Covington's file and smiled faintly. He hadn't lied—strong-willed soldiers were prime candidates. But he hadn't spilled everything either. No matter how prepped he was, the earlier patients in the 11-case lineup had slimmer odds of success. Darren, a guy who'd fought for world peace across the globe, clearly had a high sense of duty. He'd likely be all-in to contribute to others' lives and well-being. When doctor and patient both bring that kind of dedication, it cuts through a lot of the life-or-death angst.
Decision made.
Soon enough, Darren Covington rolled in with his family and a rep from the Veterans Affairs office.
"Dr. Duncan, thanks for letting Darren into the program," the VA staffer said gratefully.
"You're injecting a virus into my kid's brain?" Darren's dad, Old Man Covington—a bald, retired vet—fixed Adam with a stare.
"Not his brain, the tumor!" Darren jumped in to clarify.
"The virus attacks the tumor, shrinks it," Lexie added. "Once it's small enough, we can surgically remove it."
"Sounds risky as hell," Old Covington said, worry creasing his face.
"It is," Adam nodded. "Even routine surgeries carry risks—something this cutting-edge, even more so. That's why we're so cautious. Beyond maxing out medical prep, we've got top mathematicians modeling Darren's case, controlling variables, optimizing the plan, and boosting the odds."
"You can model this?" The VA staffer—a medic himself—blinked, stunned. He knew healthcare inside out, which made it even more mind-blowing.
"Math's the backbone of all science," Adam said with a smile. "Give a mathematician enough data—why not?"
"But there's a ton of variables, right?" the staffer pressed.
"That's why it's exploratory modeling—controlling what we can," Adam explained. "If we had it all locked down, we wouldn't be hesitating—we'd already be booking victories! The virus's tumor-eating speed, injection point distribution, shrinking it fast without trashing healthy tissue—it's all roughly designable. The hitch is viral mutation. Once it's in the tumor, chowing down—even if it's helping—the immune system clocks it and attacks. That triggers mutations, and those are wild cards. Our job's to shrink the tumor to operable size fast, minimize mutation risks, and manage any post-mutation fallout. We've optimized the virus already. After MRI and CT scans, modeling syncs up to refine the steps. Surgery and post-op? We do our best—success is up to the big guy upstairs. Mr. Covington, any questions?"
"Sounds pretty scientific," Old Covington shook his head. "You've done all you can. Darren's in God's hands now—His will be done."
"He'll be fine!" A sharp-looking soldier strode in. "He survived the battlefield. Risk's his old buddy—he's got this!"
Everyone turned to him.
"Sir!" The soldier saluted the VA staffer.
The staffer saluted back, and Old Covington cracked a proud smile.
"Your dad called me," the soldier said, looking at Darren.
"Dad, you rallying the whole platoon?" Darren squirmed, glancing at his father.
"Fighting a monster like this, you need buddies by your side," Old Covington chuckled, patting his son's hand. "He's your brother-in-arms. This is a battlefield too—he's gotta be here."
Darren finally met his friend's eyes. They shared a grin.
Adam watched, keeping his face neutral, and gave orders. "Melendez, Grey—take Darren for his scans."
"Yes, sir," Shorty and Lexie replied.
Adam flashed a smile at the group, then slipped out under the soldier's steady gaze.
"O'Malley, quit lurking—head to the free clinic. You're on duty there today," Adam said, spotting George jogging over, clearly angling to join the surgery.
"Aw, man!" George deflated.
Adam ignored him. The free clinic did need coverage, but even if it didn't, no way was George getting in on this. Kidding? That weird vibe in the room—war buddy nearly pulling a bayonet-level stare-down—was still fresh. Letting George, the guy everyone half-joked was "gay as hell," join in? Nah. Pre-surgery, you control every variable you can.
Shaking off the chaos, Adam dialed his assistant Lisa, got transferred, and grinned. "Peggy, come on over—I need you."
(Chapter End)