A World Apart
"I've got a live one," a paramedic called out, pushing the gurney through the sliding doors of Grey-Sloan's emergency room. The sound of rushing footsteps and beeping monitors grew louder as the wheels squeaked against the polished floor.
"What have we got?" Dr. Mark Sloan asked, peering over the new patient.
The young man on the gurney was unconscious, with a wild mop of black hair and glasses askew on his face. His skin was pale, almost translucent, with a smattering of freckles. There were deep gashes across his chest and arms, but what truly perplexed Mark were the burn marks that looked eerily like lightning bolts.
"EMTs found him in an alley," the paramedic reported. "No ID. Barely breathing. Vitals are all over the place. He's lost a lot of blood."
Mark's curiosity piqued. He had seen his fair share of strange cases, but this was beyond his medical expertise. "Let's get him into trauma one," he said, gesturing to the nearby room. "We need to move fast."
The ER staff leapt into action, following Mark's lead as they wheeled the mysterious patient into the designated room. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and the faint metallic scent of blood. The young man's chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath a testament to his tenuous grip on life. Mark quickly donned a pair of gloves and began his assessment.