Chapter 4: The Anesthesia Miracle
The scream that tore through the operating theater was unlike anything Ethan had heard before.
It wasn't the sharp cry of surprise or the groan of discomfort. It was the raw, animal sound of someone enduring agony beyond their capacity to bear—a sound that bypassed language and culture to touch something primal in the human brain.
Ethan's head snapped toward Bed 4, where Dr. Zhong was attempting to perform a procedure on a patient who had clearly reached her limit. The woman—little more than a girl, really, probably nineteen or twenty—was thrashing on the table, her body bucking against the restraints, tears streaming down her face.
"Hold her still!" Dr. Zhong snapped, her voice tight with frustration. "I can't work like this!"
"I'm trying!" Nurse Mia was struggling to keep the patient immobilized, her small frame no match for the girl's desperate strength. "She's too strong!"
Ethan moved without thinking, crossing the room in three strides to assist. He placed his hands on the patient's shoulders, applying his weight to pin her to the table. Even then, he could feel the force of her struggles, the muscles of her back rigid with terror and pain.
"Please," the girl gasped, her eyes finding his. They were brown and wide and filled with a desperate plea that cut straight to Ethan's heart. "Please... it hurts..."
"I know," Ethan said softly, his voice barely audible over the din. "I know it hurts. Try to breathe. Try to relax."
"I can't... I can't..." She was hyperventilating now, her body shaking with sobs. "Please make it stop..."
Ethan looked up at Dr. Zhong, his expression pleading. "Can't we give her something? She's in agony."
Dr. Zhong's jaw tightened. "She didn't pay for anesthesia."
"Then I'll pay for it," Ethan said quickly. "Put it on my account. Just... please. Look at her."
The surgeon's eyes flickered to the patient, then back to Ethan. Her expression softened slightly, but her answer remained the same. "You don't have an account here, Dr. Cole. You've been here one day. And even if you did..." She shook her head. "We can't give away medication to everyone who asks. We'd be bankrupt within a week."
"But—"
"These girls know what they're getting into," Dr. Zhong continued, her voice hardening. "They know the risks. They know the cost. If they choose to save money by skipping the anesthesia, that's their choice. We can't save them from their own poor decisions."
Ethan wanted to argue, but he could see the logic in her words. Bellevue was a business, not a charity. They couldn't afford to give away free medication to every patient who couldn't pay.
But looking into the girl's tear-streaked face, hearing her whimpers of pain, logic felt like a cold and inadequate comfort.
"Please," the girl whispered again, her hand finding his sleeve. Her fingers clutched at the fabric with desperate strength. "Please help me..."
Ethan's heart clenched. He remembered his oath—the real Hippocratic Oath, not whatever strange system had invaded his mind. First, do no harm. But how could he stand by and watch while this girl suffered? Wasn't inaction a form of harm in itself?
If only...
The thought was barely formed before the System responded.
"GHOST SYRINGE ACTIVATED."
"MENTAL INTERFACE: CONFIRM TARGET."
Ethan blinked, his eyes widening behind his mask. In his mind's eye, he could see it—a translucent syringe, glowing with an ethereal blue light. It wasn't real, not in the physical sense. He could tell that immediately. It existed only in his consciousness, a phantom instrument that somehow felt more real than anything he had ever touched.
And it was asking him to confirm a target.
Without thinking, Ethan focused on the patient beneath his hands. On her pain, her fear, her desperate need for relief. He visualized the syringe moving toward her, finding a vein, delivering its payload.
"TARGET CONFIRMED. ADMINISTERING ANESTHESIA."
There was no physical sensation—no needle prick, no insertion of a catheter. But Ethan felt something shift in the air around him, a subtle change in pressure that made the hairs on his arms stand up. And then—
The girl's eyes went wide.
Then they softened.
Then she went limp.
Her struggles ceased instantly. The tension drained from her muscles like water from a broken vessel. Her breathing slowed from frantic gasps to deep, regular rhythms. Her face, contorted in agony just moments before, went slack and peaceful.
She was asleep. Deeply, completely asleep. And Ethan hadn't touched a single syringe.
"What..." Dr. Zhong stared at the patient, her surgical instruments frozen in mid-air. "What just happened?"
"She... she stopped struggling," Nurse Mia said, her voice filled with wonder. "She just... stopped."
"Is she..." Dr. Zhong reached out, checking the girl's pulse. "Her heart rate is normal. Breathing is steady. She's just... sedated. But how?"
All eyes turned to Ethan.
He stood frozen, his mind racing. He had done this. Somehow, through the System's power, he had administered anesthesia without physical means. The ghost syringe had worked—really worked—and now this girl was sleeping peacefully, spared from the agony that had been torturing her.
But how could he explain it?
"I..." he stammered, grasping for words. "I used a... a technique. From my training."
"What technique?" Dr. Zhong demanded. "She wasn't given any medication. I saw it. She wasn't connected to any IV. What did you do?"
Ethan's mouth opened and closed. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, soaking into the edge of his surgical mask. He needed an explanation, something plausible, something that wouldn't get him fired or institutionalized.
And then it came to him—a memory from his childhood, from his grandmother's stories about the old country.
"Qi," he said, the word tasting strange on his tongue. "It's an... energy technique. From traditional Chinese medicine. Pressure points. I applied pressure to specific nerves that induce relaxation and pain relief."
The lie sounded absurd even to his own ears. But Dr. Zhong's expression shifted from suspicion to contemplation.
"Acupuncture?" she asked. "Without needles?"
"Something like that," Ethan said, relief flooding through him. "It's... difficult to explain. An energy transfer. I've been practicing since I was a child."
Dr. Zhong studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I've heard of such things. My grandmother used to visit a healer who could put people to sleep with a touch. I thought it was superstition."
"There's more to medicine than Western science," Ethan said, warming to his subject. "The body has energy pathways—meridians—that can be manipulated. I simply... redirected her energy. Induced a state of deep relaxation."
It was complete nonsense, of course. But it was nonsense that fit the observable facts. The girl was sedated. No medication had been administered. And Ethan had been the last person to touch her.
"Incredible," Nurse Mia breathed, looking at Ethan with newfound respect. "Can you teach me?"
"It takes years of practice," Ethan said, trying to sound mysterious. "And it doesn't work on everyone. The patient needs to be... receptive."
Dr. Zhong turned back to her patient, who was now sleeping peacefully, her face relaxed, her body completely still. "Well, whatever you did, it worked. I can proceed with the surgery now."
She began to operate, her movements precise and efficient. Ethan watched, his heart still hammering in his chest, as the procedure continued without incident. The girl didn't stir. She didn't flinch. She simply slept, oblivious to the invasion of her body.
Twenty minutes later, it was done. Dr. Zhong stepped back, stripping off her gloves with a satisfied expression.
"Successful extraction," she announced. "Minimal bleeding. She should recover well."
"What about the anesthesia?" Nurse Mia asked. "How long will it last?"
Ethan blinked. He hadn't thought about that. The ghost syringe had put her under, but he had no idea how to wake her up. Was there a time limit? Would she wake naturally, or did he need to reverse it somehow?
"She'll wake up on her own in about an hour," he said, hoping it was true. "The effects are temporary."
Dr. Zhong nodded. "Then let's move her to recovery. And Dr. Cole..."
She turned to face him, her expression unreadable.
"Yes?"
"That was impressive. Whatever you did... I've never seen anything like it. If you can truly control pain without medication..." She trailed off, her eyes gleaming with a new light. "That could be very valuable."
Ethan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Valuable. Yes, that was one word for it. The System had given him power—the power to heal, to relieve suffering, to perform what seemed like miracles. And with that power came opportunity.
But also danger.
If anyone discovered the truth—if anyone realized that his "qi technique" was actually supernatural power—he would be in serious trouble. He would become a lab rat, a curiosity, a specimen to be studied and dissected. Or worse, he would be dismissed as a lunatic, stripped of his medical license, institutionalized.
He needed to be careful. He needed to hide his abilities, to use them sparingly, to build a plausible cover story that would explain his successes without revealing their true source.
But even as he thought about the risks, he couldn't suppress the excitement bubbling in his chest. The System was real. The power was real. And it was his.
"TASK COMPLETED: RELIEVE PAIN WITHOUT MEDICATION," the voice announced in his mind. "BONUS REWARD: GHOST SYRINGE DURABILITY INCREASED."
"NEXT TASK: PERFORM 50 SPECULUM APPLICATIONS. REWARD: PERMANENT 'ANESTHESIA MASTERY' SKILL."
Ethan's eyes widened behind his mask. Permanent skill? Anesthesia mastery? If he completed this task, he would gain the ability to use the ghost syringe at will, without relying on the System's temporary rewards.
The possibilities were staggering. With that power, he could help anyone. He could relieve any pain. He could become the greatest anesthesiologist in the world—not just in name, but in reality.
He looked around the operating theater, at the unconscious patients, the busy nurses, the skeptical doctors. They had no idea what he was becoming. They saw only a young doctor, slightly awkward, trying to find his place.
But Ethan knew better. He was more than that now. He was the host of something extraordinary—a force that would transform him from a disgraced exile into something legendary.
The Hippocratic System had chosen him. And he would not waste that gift.
"Dr. Cole?" Nurse Sarah's voice cut through his reverie. "We have another patient waiting. Bed 1. Are you ready?"
Ethan straightened his shoulders, a new confidence flowing through him. "I'm ready," he said, and for the first time since arriving at Bellevue, he meant it.
He approached Bed 1, where a new patient lay waiting. She was young and pretty, another university student with her life ahead of her. And in a few minutes, she would be unconscious, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.
The thought didn't fill him with guilt anymore. It filled him with purpose.
He was Dr. Ethan Cole. He was an anesthesiologist. And he was becoming something more.
The speculum gleamed in his hand, catching the surgical lights. He positioned himself at the foot of the bed, ready to begin.
One down. Forty-nine to go.
The game had begun.