A worryingly loud engine noise resonates from afar. I hear the piercing screeching of tires before I even see the city bus zooming down the narrow street past me. It's going way too... As I begin to think the word "fast", the vehicle abruptly spins, suddenly slipping against the asphalt on an angle. In an instant, I watch the machine smash through the large bay windows of Dark Crumbs Coffee, violently tearing apart into the coffee shop's prim facade and entering it. The back of the bus whirls around, placing the whole vehicle in an horizontal position and scratching the brick wall of a building with an ear-splitting screech of distorted metal. A medium-sized explosion resonates from inside the ravaged cafe, propelling the bus backwards and upwards for a split second. The metallic container raises, its roof slamming into the storefront behind it and rapidly falling back onto the pavement, bouncing and tilting to the right prior to completely landing on its side. Its course is complete, in a concert of screams, surrounded by a cloud of thick smoke and probably enough broken glass to craft the stained glass windows of a church.

I can feel my heart throbbing through my eardrums and my throat is dry. I was holding my breath during the few seconds this accident needed to happen. I cannot see the full extent of the damage because of the overwhelming mist that floats around it, however, I do not need to witness it to make an educated guess that what lies beyond it is nothing less than nightmare fuel. My hands are barely holding the newspaper anymore, I set it down on the bench and reach for my walkie-talkie, unstrapping it from my belt. Even when I am on a break from duty, I never separate myself from it. The microscopic red light bulb on top of the black plastic case of the contraption blinks before I can press on the emergency key. I swiftly turn the volume up, and Dorothy's voice escapes the speaker, slightly muffled and crackling.

"This is Dorothy Chapman speaking. A bus accident just occurred near the corner of Harbor and Nightingale, the vehicle crashed into a nearby coffee shop. I need at least three technicians over there ASAP. Over."

Dorothy is the chief of Gotham General Hospital's ambulance service, therefore she is my lowest ranking - and definitely favorite - boss. She prides herself for being effective, professional and skilled at what she does. Ms. Chapman understands the field to an admirable extent and her no-nonsense ways are what landed her the title of leading officer.

"Copy. This is Colin Levine speaking. I'll get Max and Scott. Over."

Before I can intervene, she answers him:

"Copy. Keep me updated on the situation, boys. I'll try to find Leah and send her your way if things are really ugly over there. Over."

"Copy, Dorothy. Out."

I jam the talk button to activate my radio, and the nail of my thumb, although it is not that long, scratches the plastic surface that surrounds the switch.

"This is Constanza Aguayo speaking. I am on my break right next to the scene, Dorothy. What can I do? Over."

I sigh shakily, grateful as I realize that my body is already stable, rid of fear, and my mind is once more focused on the task at hand. I am ready.

"Copy that, Tanza. Wait for our guys to get there, but if you could get an idea of the damage, that would be great. Tell us when you have an update. Over."

"Copy, out."

I attach my walkie-talkie to my belt and carefully head towards the wreckage. Regardless of how careful I am being, I can hear shards of fractured glass squeaking and cracking under the reinforced soles of my boots. Luckily, the smoke is already clearing out thanks to the strong autumnal wind... Which also carries the slightly rusty odor of fresh blood. I begin to make out reddened bodies scattered across the ground, like leaves fallen from a tree with a metallic trunk, tipped over like a log behind them. Static noises coming from my radio startle me out of my observations.

"Um... This is Max... Yeah, Maximilian Eisner speaking. Ms. Chapman, we got a major problem, the scene seems pretty bad from over here, but the ambulance cannot get past the bus. It's blocking the... Blocking Harbor. What do we do? And, uh, over."

I stifle a nervous laugh. Maximilian is the newest emergency medical technician on our team, he joined our hospital two months ago. He is having a little bit of trouble adapting to the job, but that is expected from a beginner.

"Copy. The driver should check the GPS, find a way around. Over."

"This is Scott Wallace speaking. There are none, Dorothy, we're stuck..." I hear a voice in the back of his transmission, perhaps Colin's, but I cannot be certain. "Stand-by."

I raise my radio closer to my face, paying close attention to my coworkers' exchange.

"Yeah, we can't get around, Dorothy. And we will need to move out soon to let the firefighters through. Maybe they can move the bus, but it's not confirmed yet. Over."

Despite the fact that we are professionals and we were trained to react well under pressure, I can still hear the concern in his tone.

"Copy. Park the ambulance close enough to move in whenever you are able to. Tanza, do you copy? Over."

Even Dorothy's voice is strained with barely perceptible worry.

"Affirmative."

"Copy. What is the situation beyond that bus? Over."

The loud cries of a young child interrupt me, perfectly timed. I glance at a motionless body lying down a few feet from me and hurriedly answer:

"I'd say a lot of casualties, mostly deaths. I'll tend to the injured right away. Over."

I hastily discard my walkie-talkie, lowering its volume output and securing it to my right hip, shamelessly ignoring my colleagues' further comments.

I pull a pair of disposable medical gloves from one the pockets belonging to my cargo pants and snap them on, glancing at the disheartening scenery.

The first victim I spot is a woman, crawling away from the remains of the bus. A trail of dark blood is spread out behind her, reminiscent of the skid marks left by the crashed vehicle all across the road. Her legs do not seem to be moving much, I interject her lower body must be where her injury resides. She pushes her right forearm against the street and lunges a few centimeters forward, panting, helping herself with solely the strength of her arms and abdominal muscles. Her eyes raise up as I reach her side. They are a striking shade of green, extremely saturated and nearly troubling to behold on a human, in spite of the interference caused by her pair of glasses. She is muttering something, repeating a word. I kneel down next to her, noticing hundreds of incisons in her skin, no doubt traced by the specks of glass and metal which are inserted at the edges of her wounds.

"... ace..."

A string of blood and saliva is hanging from her lower lip and I lean in slightly to try and understand her feverish pants.

"... ace... lace... klace... ne... neck..."

The lenses of her glasses are shattered, and only a few sharp pieces continue to stand inside the frame, splattered with blood and dirt.

I tell her, gently: "It's okay, you can do it, tell me what you..."

The young woman interrupts me and gasps out: "Necklace..!"

She raises her trembling left hand and points to my left, slightly behind me. I turn, and the bright shimmering surface of a green jewel, the exact tint of the victim's eyes, immediately catches my attention. I stretch to grab the frail silvery chain and I show it to her. The stranger follows the swinging motion of the pendant with a relieved and determined gaze.

"This is yours?"

"Yes, thank you..." she manages to whisper in a soft, raspy tone.

I deftly fasten a knot with the dismantled chain and slip her necklace around her neck, over her long hair to save time. I need to get a look at her wounds to assess the gravity of her situation.

"I'm a paramedic, okay? May I look at your wounds? I can help you sit."

I delicately grip her forearms and use a steady grasp on her elbows to effectively aid her. I flip her around and, without thinking, my eyes widen with shock. Astonished, I stare at her stomach region. Her white button up blouse is lacerated and so is the exposed skin underneath it. The sheer amount of blood that is leaking from the injury is phenomenally distracting. And that is without even considering her bare flesh... Her ribs are sticking out of her body, it is nothing short of a miracle that she is still conscious, medically speaking. As for being alive... Abraded internal organs are no joke, and there is a 90% chance that she is suffering from an hemorrhage - if not multiple ones. I can try to lengthen her life, but I seriously doubt she will survive this, unless my fellow EMTs suddenly get through the barricade created by the demolished bus.