His case was a peculiar one. In fact, as Dr. Alyosha Abromovitch ran through the corridors of the European Medical Centre he couldn't believe what he had been told. How could anyone be involved in a car accident when the snow had made the roads all but inaccessable? It was Christmas Eve in Moscow, no one should have been driving at all.

He slides a pair of latex gloves over his hands as he rushes down the hallway to intercept the boy. A medical team would be coming through a lift with him at any moment.

Abromovitch's cerulean eyes locked on the lift at the end of the long white passageway. He brushed past doctors and patrons as he made his way. Finally, he made it to the lift and stood there, waiting to take the patient into surgery.

Not long after arriving at the lift, the sound of the car making it's ascent to the third level of the hospital filled the doctor's ears. He prepares himself and takes in a large mouthful of air. The doors opened, and a team of paramedics pushed the boy quickly into the hallway. All it took for Abromovitch was to take one look at the boy and all of his preparation went to hell. The lad was covered in deep cuts and huge bruises. His arms and legs were twisted and mangled. Blood covered him and his mouth drooped open.

Alyosha grunted and ran along side the gurney the paramedics pushed. The group rushed through the corridor before finally coming to an operating room. The paramedics left and Abromovitch called for three of his best surgeons. As they came, he looked at the boy in front of him. The skin that wasn't covered in blood was pale and his eyes were a deep green. Tufts of his brown hair were ripped from his head. His features flowed freely and even though his mouth was gaping open, the doctor could tell that he previously had a smooth jaw. Young. The boy looked at him helplessly and took shallow breaths, pleading without words for the doctor to help him.

Alyosha couldn't help but feel sympathy for the boy. He grips the gurney tightly. Keeping him from dying would take a medical miracle and even if they did, he would live with many unfixable physical limitations for the rest of his life.

As his medical team came in the O.R., Abromovitch informed the surgeons on the task they had been given.

"We have a young teenager, thrown for the front window of a car. Arms and legs are broken, multiple lacerations all over the body. Multiple bruises, possible blood clots, dislocated jaw..."

The boy lay on the gurney, scared to death of the long list of injuries. Pain moved from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head like waves on the beach. He was unable to move any of his limbs and he was humiliated by the fact that he had to suck small bouts of air through his open mouth. It was cold in the operating room and he could feel the unrelenting urge to fall asleep, but he didn't give in to it. He knew what came with it. He would die if he closed his eyes.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to thrash his head down, he wanted to throw himself around. Anything to not succumb to death, but he couldn't. He was a prisoner inside his own body. The doctor's talk was all a blur to him as he stared at the ceiling.

"...Now, let's get working on him!" Abromovitch yelled.

The doctors start by carefully removing the boy's clothes. The cold intensified as they gradually stripped him completely naked. Their hands were painful as they moved over his broken body.

"We don't have time to put him on an operating bed, we'll have to work over the gurney." Alyosha says.

At that, the doctors started working on him. They cut, stitched, an wrapped for an hour until they realized working on this boy had been futile. Abromovitch swears and brings his fist into a wall.

He commands his medical team to leave the room and moves over the boy. He takes his hand in his and starts to cry weakly.

"I- I'm so sorry." He says.

The boy's heart jumped into his throat. He had no chance of surviving. Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't want to go.

Abromovitch and the boy held hands for another half hour and he watched as the boy deteriorated before his eyes. Then, his breath became quick and unsuccessful. The boy lay in horror as slowly, his eyes closed.

And there, on the operating table, was where he died.