First published: October 28th, 2022

Twenty-five-year-old Kit Charoensuk (cha-run-sook) stands transfixed before the coffin-like pod, his numb hands buried deep into the pockets of his stiff gray overalls. Numerous windows pop up on the ivory pod's plexiglass cover, shielding the reposing old man underneath.

"I should've chosen DIAG 201," Kit hisses, his deep-set black eyes squinted to decipher the various charts and images that appear on each window.

Premium Ward 7F is just like any other of the vast rooms of VisMed HQ: a 250 square foot room with the ellipsoid pod, designed to provide optimal conditions to the patient without any foreign contact, placed at the center. A peach overlay cabinet faces the pellucid sliding doors, filled with emergency meds, equipment and clothing. The bottom compartment can be pulled out to form a cushioned bench and a slim, foldable table.

The other two windows of the narrow but long room, unlike its dense, snow white counterparts, are transparent, thus making intern Charoensuk's head throb as multiple sets of eyes set their perplexed gazes on him.

Kit draws out a sharp breath, glancing at the freckled bald man through the gaps between the now flickering screens. The old man lays with his eyes closed, a blue blanket draped over his naked body, a slight frown creasing his otherwise placid visage.

He can't die like this, Kit muses, his honey-colored skin growing pale under the soft white lights. His eyes flicker to his left when a harsh slurp cuts through the alarming beeps arising from the pod.

Kit clenches his stubby fingers into tight fists. "Shouldn't you do something!"

Seated eight feet away from a furious Kit and the comatose patient, on the cushioned melamine bench, twenty-three-year-old Alison Colrich leans further toward the steaming big bowl on the table before her, making sure her navy blue overalls remain stain-free as she chows down another fistful of Mitsubushi's SourSweet Noodles.

Her glowing fawn skin matches the golden lapels of her overalls, and the golden analog watch wrapped around her left wrist. It's been ages (a really long six months) since she's had a man-made meal.

"Yum," Alison mumbles, her raven eyes glistening with tears as she puts a plump dumpling into her already stuffed mouth. She loosens her tight, black bun of hair, and hovers her chopsticks over the various delicacies spread across the table - stir fry noodles, steaming salmon broth, succulent chicken dumplings, vibrant cob salad, rows of uramaki and sashimi sushis, long sticks of shish kebabs and a generous serving of sticky rice pudding - all placed in a large, black tray. A medium sized cup of butterscotch smoothie is placed on the far right.

"Dr. Colrich!" Kit yells, pointing to the pod, his face as red as the multiple screens across the plexiglass cover. "We need to save the patient here!" The crowd of guardians observing this from the adjacent rooms shake their heads in disappointment, some grunting as they glare at the disinterested physician.

Kit sighs, turning back and squatting down, his forehead creased when he sees a small panel of multi-colored buttons on the pod's casing. Being his sixth day as a first-year-intern, Kit obviously has no idea how to operate the pod, but it might trigger a memory of a vague lecture from his five years of studying. Somebody must've taught what to do in this critical situation.

With the end of the rhinococcus* epidemic, the newfound Asian kingdom of Vistoria launched the "Buffet System" to educate its population of the then 198 million. Freely available under EDUhub, everyone could gain knowledge with ease, whether it was the English alphabet, the workings of a hydraulic engine, or the formation of the New World. The virtual medals gained after the completion of each course, if added in the right composition, would yield a favorable spot in the careers of medicine, tech, business, entertainment, and so on.

For Kit, it was either this five-year-internship program or the compulsory military post stationed beyond the heavily guarded borders of Vistoria. Tonight, he's already regretting the choice he was once proud of before coming here.

"How are you even eating?" Kit yells, straightening. He grumbles when he fails to get a response.

Alison stops midway, placing a dumpling back in its bowl. She glances up at the intern. "Can you please...just shut up?"

Kit harrumphs, his brown shoes squeaking as he takes a step forward, "Well, I'm sorry to disturb your joyous exodus. But we have a patient to save." He points a shaky finger to the patient, "He's dying in there."

Alison smirks, leaning back. She crosses her arms. " What's your problem, newbie?" She crinkles her forehead, "And it's experience, not exodus."

Kit scrunches his face into an exaggerated scowl, not able to tolerate this one-hour nuisance anymore. " คุณ! คุณเป็นแพทย์ที่ได้รับการรับรอง Heck วิสัญญีแพทย์ที่มีชื่อเสียง และคุณไม่ได้ทำอะไรเลย! (Khuṇ! Khuṇ pĕn phæthy̒ thī̀ dị̂ rạb kār rạbrxng. Heck wis̄ạỵỵīphæthy̒ thī̀ mīchụ̄̀xs̄eīyng. læa khuṇ mị̀ dị̂ thả xarị ley! / YOU! You are a fricking certified physician. Heck, a renowned anaesthesiologist. And you're not doing anything!)"

" นั่นเป็นเพราะเขาลงนามใน DNR, ดัมมี่ (Nạ̀n pĕn pherāa k̄heā lng nām nı DNR, dạm mī̀ / That's because he signed a DNR, dummy)," Alison replies, rolling her eyes. She glances at the appalled guardians on either side as she retrieves a slim remote from her pocket. The transparent walls turn a misty grey upon the click of a button.

Kit rubs his chin, covering his suddenly agape mouth. He never knew she would be fluent in Thai, given that everyone (from all parts of Vistoria and beyond) owns translators. How did she say that? He brushes away his curiosity with a slight shake of his head. Now's not the time to be her fanboy.

Kit was in awe of Alison Colrich before this very evening at VisMed HQ, the kingdom's top medical facility. Despite growing up in the secluded province of Ulaanbaatar, Alison became a renowned anesthesiologist in a span of six years. Most would take seven years to just complete the prerequisite courses of joining the internship program. This inspired Kit, a migrant from the sinking province of Bangkok, to pursue his medical aspirations.

Now, he doubts she knows anything.

When did the patient sign the DNR?  He muses, gritting his teeth as he watches his instructor take her sweet time in closing her meal boxes. His eyes waver as he flips through the mental pages of numerous medical records he came across in the last three days.

Alison straightens her overalls as she stands, lingering gaze on the packed food. Why couldn't he let me eat in peace? She places her hands at the back as she steps away, and toward the pod. She takes her first look at the patient, standing opposite to the intern. "Do you know who he is?"

Kit furrows his brows, does it matter? He remains idle in his stance, lowering his angering gaze to the five-foot-seven physician.

"Don't look at me like that," Alison snaps, releasing her hands. She places her right on the beeping pod, the flickering windows unaffected. " และฉันถามคำถามคุณ (Læa chạn t̄hām khảt̄hām khuṇ /And I asked you a question)."

Kit sighs. "Does it matter who he is?"

"He's the one who monopolized the food & beverage industry. You know, right after destroying his competitors' factories," Alison says, in her calmest tone.

The intern takes a seething inhale. "Isn't that Dominik Volkov?"

Alison crinkles her forehead, peering at the blue screen on the foot of the pod, displaying the patient's identity. Not the one, she muses, her thin lips sealed shut. She nods, gaze not shifting from the screen. "Yeah, you're right." She rubs the back of her neck, and thinks for a moment.

Kit flashes a grin when she retrieves a small packet from her pocket and squeezes the contained sanitizer out into her right palm. Finally.

The nurses he met earlier are completely wrong. Yes, it takes time, but Alison Colrich does care for all of her patients. He turns to the old man, eyes widening when he sees a large window on the cover, displaying: PATIENT IS UNDER CARDIAC ARREST.

"Oh no," Kit cries, scanning the pod's control panel. There must be a button to initiate the defibrillator. "The patient's having a cardiac arrest. What-" He trails off when he sees his instructor on the bench, opening her meal boxes.

"Ahh," Alison whines, navigating her chopsticks amidst the noodles. "They're all stuck together."

"WHAT THE HELL?" Kit bellows, making Alison drop the sashimi sushi she had taken at that moment. "How can you call yourself a physician when you don't give a damn about your patients?!"

Alison grits her teeth, eyes on the smashed sushi sprawled across the tiled floor. "Are you DEAF?" she snaps, getting up. She marches toward the intern. "Didn't I tell he signed a DNR?" She reaches the pod, furiously tapping on the large screen. A white screen appears over the scrunched patient's face.

Kit squints to read the small font, jaw tightening when he spots something on the DNR document. "The nurses were right." He straightens, now glaring at her. "You're the Chief's pet."

Alison crosses her arms across her chest. "So what?" She glances at the document. "How's this related to that?"

Kit smirks. "It doesn't have the VisMed seal."

Alison furrows her brows, glancing at the screen. Her eyes go wide upon not seeing the circular seal of the silver hummingbird on the bottom right edge of the document. Damn. How did I miss this? A small grin appears across her lips. "You have a good eye."

"Oh come on," Kit says, stepping away. I'm done with you. He rushes to the door. "I'm calling for help." He reaches the door, typing the key on the number-pad present on the right door.

"Ow!" Kit says, rubbing the back of his head when a sharp pain arises in that spot. He freezes when he spots his instructor's black shoe near the sole of his gray ones.

Bulls-eye! Alison chuckles, dusting her hands. Her grin remains as the intern turns around. "If you want to end up in the military, then go ahead. Call the entire team here and tell them to save him." She heads to the bench, "You see, even then nobody'll help you."

Kit glances at the opening doors, and then at the anesthesiologist. "So be it."

The pellucid doors slide back to a close, leaving Alison with the moribund patient.

"Fool," she mutters, scanning the containers before her. She grumbles, "Now they're cold." Her gaze falls on the patient's pod. "Golubev." She leans back. "Ah right, Anatoly Golubev. The one who burned three reserved forests to build his dream mansion." She rubs her forehead. "Why am I forgetting things today?"

As the beeps cease to a constant ping, Alison opens and closes the containers. "Should I eat this or not?"

*rhinococcus - a contagious disease that cost the lives of 7.12 billion people globally (2022 - 2027). Caused by a pathogen that's a fusion of the rhinovirus (cause of the common cold) and meningococcus (cause of bacterial meningitis).