Chapter 218 Terror in the Operating Room
Chapter 218 Terror in the Operating Room
Sloane's POV
"Sloane, there's an emergency situation with the exchange program at Charité Hospital in Berlin." The professor's voice was urgent. "There's an extremely complex nerve suture case. The European experts can't decide on a treatment plan and specifically requested you to come back and take charge. We've already booked you a ticket on the next available flight."
"I understand, Professor. I'll leave right away."
Without a moment's hesitation, I got up immediately, stuffed a few changes of clothes back into my suitcase, and headed straight to JFK International Airport.
During the dozen hours of transatlantic flight, I dozed off and woke up repeatedly on the plane.
My dreams were filled with scenes of Jared coldly and mercilessly shutting me out of the ICU.
By the time the plane finally landed at Berlin Tegel Airport, I was drenched in cold sweat.
As soon as I turned on my phone, it vibrated several times in succession.
A missed call notification popped up instantly.
Looking at that number I knew by heart on the screen, my heart skipped a beat and my breathing stopped.
It was Jared!
Had he removed me from his blocked list? He called me? Could he have remembered something?
Countless thoughts tangled wildly in my mind. My fingertips trembling slightly, I pressed the callback button without hesitation. With the phone against my ear, my heartbeat was so fast it nearly burst through my chest.
The phone rang for a full minute until the system automatically disconnected, but no one answered.
That tiny spark of hope that had just ignited was instantly extinguished, like cold water thrown on me in the dead of winter.
I gave a bitter smile and shoved the phone into my pocket. It's okay, maybe he was getting examined, maybe he was asleep.
As long as he was willing to unblock me, as long as he was safe, everything else—I could wait slowly.
When I arrived at Charité Hospital, I didn't even have time to adjust to the jet lag before diving straight into high-intensity work.
I had just put on my white coat and was about to attend an extremely important pre-surgery conference when my phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket.
It was that number again!
My heart tightened. I immediately stopped in my tracks and pressed the answer button, almost trembling.
"Sloane..." From the other end came Jared's hoarse, low voice. His voice carried the weakness of someone just recovering from a serious illness, yet still had that magnetic quality I couldn't resist.
The moment I heard his voice, my eyes instantly reddened and my throat felt blocked by something—I couldn't say a word.
Just then, the conference room door was pushed open and the German assistant doctor stuck his head out, urgently pressing, "Dr. Sloane, the meeting is about to start. Experts from all over Europe are waiting for your treatment plan!"
Reason and emotion violently tore at each other in my mind.
I bit my lip and forcibly pushed back the tears in my eyes.
"Jared, I have a very urgent meeting right now. Everyone's waiting for me." I lowered my voice, speaking urgently but gently. "When I'm done, I'll call you back later, okay?"
After saying this, without waiting for his response, I steeled myself and hung up.
I pushed open the conference room door and walked in.
For the next two days, I worked like a tireless machine, pouring all my energy into the upcoming pan-European public demonstration surgery. This was a major event in the medical world that allowed no room for error.
On the day of the surgery, Berlin's sky was overcast.
Before changing into sterile surgical scrubs, I stood in the changing room, looking at my phone lying quietly in the locker.
The screen was completely blank—no missed calls, no messages.
I hesitated for a moment, then opened my conversation with Jared. My fingertips flew across the keyboard as I sent him a text: [I'm about to do the public surgery. Wish me luck.]
After pressing send, I didn't wait for his reply. I locked my phone in the locker, turned around, and walked into the operating room.
The surgical lights came on. The entire operating room was so quiet you could only hear the regular beeping of the monitors.
Behind the glass of the observation room stood Europe's top neurosurgeons.
I focused intently on the view under the microscope, my scalpel steady as a rock. Every movement—dissecting, threading the needle, tying knots—was textbook perfect.
All the noise of the outside world, all the pain of love—in this moment, I completely blocked it all out. In my world, only this tiny space of life before my eyes remained.
Time passed second by second. The surgery was going extremely smoothly and had reached the final stage.
"Prepare to suture the dura mater," I commanded in a deep voice, extending my hand to receive the needle holder from the nurse.
Just as the needle tip was about to pierce through the tissue, about to declare this perfect surgery nearly complete...
"BOOM——!!!"
A deafening explosion suddenly came from outside the operating room!
The entire building shook violently. The surgical lights overhead flickered wildly, and dust fell from the ceiling.
Immediately after, the piercing sound of the highest-level fire alarm instantly tore through the quiet of the entire hospital!
"Stay steady!" I shouted sternly, forcibly suppressing the shock in my heart. The hand holding the needle holder didn't tremble in the slightest. "Nurse, hemostatic clamp! Continue suturing!"
No matter what was happening outside, the patient's cranial cavity was still open.
As the lead surgeon, I absolutely could not stop at this moment.
Amid the piercing alarm, I completed the dura mater suturing and final bandaging with the fastest speed and extreme precision.
"Surgery complete. Transfer the patient immediately!" I threw down the instruments and yanked off my sterile gloves.
Pushing open the heavy door of the operating room, the hallway had already descended into complete chaos.
Thick smoke rolled through. Screams and cries intertwined.
"Dr. Sloane! Run!" A nurse with blood all over her face stumbled over and grabbed my arm. Her voice was distorted by extreme fear. "Some terminally ill lunatic incited several desperate patients to plant bombs downstairs! They have guns and are shooting randomly, killing anyone they see! Hide quickly!"
Terminal patients taking revenge on society?
My heart clenched violently.
"Leave the patient to me. You go find shelter!" I grabbed a wet towel to cover my nose and mouth, and against the panicked crowd, tried to find a safe hiding place.
The thick smoke made my eyes stream with tears. Muffled gunshots kept coming from deep in the corridor, each one like a strike on Death's scythe.
Crouching low, I had just turned into a storage room for medical equipment and hadn't yet closed the door when a rough hand suddenly reached out from behind the door and locked around my neck!
"Don't move! Move again and I'll kill you!"
A cold, hard gun barrel pressed firmly against my temple.
My whole body froze. Cold sweat instantly soaked my back.
The person holding me hostage was a middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes, sunken eye sockets, and a face showing a sickly gray pallor.
It was the typical appearance of someone in the terminal stage of illness.