The next day unfolded like any other—or so it seemed.
The hospital was steeped in an odd atmosphere, a strange vibe hanging over everyone.
By 6 p.m., things took a turn. Unlike the usual dawdling, everyone clocked out right on time. They all scattered to shake off the day's tension—no need to dwell on that.
Bianca, for once, didn't wait for Adam to invite her. She just tagged along to his apartment without a word.
"No, don't," Adam said gently, picking up on her good intentions. She wanted to comfort him, but he turned her down with a soft refusal.
For one, he wasn't rattled. Two, when it came to Alex's ordeal, he barely felt any empathy—certainly not enough to need consoling. And three, even though he'd scrubbed himself clean over and over afterward, he still wasn't in the mood for anything "indescribable" these days. Call it a mix of his germaphobe tendencies and OCD flaring up.
In his past life, Adam already had a hint of this quirk. Every time he locked the door before leaving, he'd twist the knob repeatedly to triple-check it was secure. Even then, after heading downstairs, he'd still feel uneasy—half-tempted to march back up and twist it a few more times, just to be sure.
In this life, spending so much time with little Sheldon and Monica had rubbed off on him. Their influence dialed up his cleanliness obsession and kicked his OCD into overdrive. Back in his old life, if he was sure everything was fine, he'd never have said no to Bianca's eager affection. No chance.
The reason he didn't stop her from getting in the car earlier was simple—he didn't want her to misunderstand. Bringing her into the apartment, holding her close while he explained, felt way more convincing than a thousand words out in the open.
And judging by the glee on Bianca's face? She was happier than Adam had ever been in his past life during New Year's break. This was probably the moment she'd been dreaming of—a night of just cuddling, no strings attached, none of that love-hate chaos she usually got from him.
If Adam had been willing to do this sooner, she'd never have moved out on her own accord.
They lingered in that cozy moment for a bit.
Ring ring.
The phone cut through the silence.
Adam glanced at it, got up from the bed, flashed Bianca a quick smile, and headed to the study. "Juno? Yeah, you heard about it too, huh?"
News spreads faster than a virus—no exaggeration there. No bug could zip from New York to Boston in record time, but gossip? Oh, it absolutely could.
The medical world's a big place, sure, but it's also a tight-knit circle compared to society at large. In that little bubble, a doctor getting shot? That's the kind of bombshell that sets everyone off. Juno knowing about it didn't surprise Adam one bit.
"I was right there…" Adam recounted the whole thing from his perspective.
"You've really gotta be careful from now on," Juno said with a light laugh over the line. "This time it was fentanyl. Next time it could be AIDS. We've got a case here—patient hid their HIV status, coughed, and splattered blood right in the doctor's face."
"Did they get infected?" Adam asked, stunned.
AIDS wasn't in the same league as fentanyl. Right now, it was still a death sentence, plain and simple. Sure, future medical breakthroughs might stretch out a patient's lifespan, but the quality of life? Don't even get him started.
"You know the drill—tests first, then post-exposure prophylaxis right away," Juno explained. "The odds of infection are low, but they've still gotta do three rounds of antiviral meds: Nelfinavir, Zidovudine, and Lamivudine."
"Those all come with side effects," Adam pointed out. "Headaches, nausea, vivid dreams—you name it."
"Yup," Juno agreed. "Plus HIV tests at six weeks, three months, and six months. If any come back positive, Dr. Cameron's screwed. The hospital won't just quietly cover endless medical bills. They'll probably drag it to court, claim Dr. Cameron's a junkie, and say she got HIV from shooting up."
"Ugh," Adam sighed.
It sounded brutal beyond belief, but that was standard procedure. In the U.S., it's a well-oiled machine—especially with the insane number of addicts propping up the global drug trade. High-purity stuff aside, custom "sandwiches" were even legal in plenty of states.
Back when Adam was at Columbia, he ran into Ted and Matthew—those two clowns got blitzed off sandwiches more than once. Among young people, less than 40% could say they'd never tried one. That's a terrifying stat when you realize it means almost everyone around you has.
The herd mentality it breeds? That's the real killer.
The higher the work stress, the more likely someone's hooked. Take the wolves of Wall Street—work hard, party hard, drink hard. Without drugs, they couldn't function or schmooze. Doctors aren't much different. The pressure's insane, and addictive meds—like painkillers—are way too easy to come by.
Take Dr. House next door. Guy's got a limp and pops pills like candy—can't go a minute without them.
In a society like that, when the suits want to pin blame, they don't miss. Guilty or not, bled for the hospital or not, if your worth doesn't outweigh the cost, they'll show their ruthless side without blinking.
Capital doesn't have a shred of humanity.
"You stay safe out there," Adam couldn't help but warn.
He had his "bullet time" edge, so threats like that didn't faze him much. Blood splatter wasn't a speeding bullet—it moved slow enough to dodge or block. He just had to shield his eyes, mouth, and ears, the vulnerable spots. Easy enough.
"Don't worry about me," Juno chuckled. "I can spot a sketchy patient a mile away, and I'm always on guard. You, though? You'd better watch yourself."
"Watch myself for what?" Adam knew she was teasing and rolled his eyes. "Let me tell you, I've got a gorgeous woman lying in my bed right now, and I told her to wait a few days. You have no idea how many hints and offers I've turned down lately. I'm not the old me anymore."
"Tsk tsk, so you're serious about Peggy, huh?" Juno said, clearly amused.
Yup, she knew all about Adam and Peggy. Last Sunday night, an excited Adam couldn't resist calling her up to spill the beans. He had to tell someone, right? Juno was his best friend—never judged him, never lectured him about his love life. He always shared everything with her, no hesitation.
"Has she reached out lately?"
"Nope," Adam said, his lips twitching. "And I'm not getting serious with her either. I'm just past that phase where I see a hot girl and instantly want to make a move."
"Heh," Juno laughed, her tone loaded. "Looks like your first time really meant something special to you. Not surprising, though—you've always been more like an Eastern guy than an American one."
"…"
Adam didn't know what to say to that.
Juno was sharp as hell. If she didn't have zero clue about stuff like system transmigration, he'd bet she'd have sniffed out his hidden soul ages ago.