Yes, I am Human (7)

"Come on, come on, come on..."

After the brief exchange of messages with the Department Chair, I submitted a special test request to the lab and prayed for the results with everything I had.

I sat in front of the monitor, furiously clicking the refresh button on the EMR—the electronic medical record system.

"Come on..."

And a few minutes later, the test results I'd been waiting for appeared on the screen.

"Yesss!!"

The moment I saw the results, I leapt out of my chair and let out a whoop before I could stop myself.

Song-woo, who had been reviewing other patients' charts beside me, jerked his head up in alarm.

"You scared me! What is it, Professor?"

"Song-woo! That gunshot patient—he's going to live!"

"What?"

"He was never AB to begin with!"

I shared the lab results with Song-woo. At first, he just tilted his head, unable to grasp what they meant. When I saw his eyes wandering over the report in confusion, I silently moved the cursor over the word cold on the printout.

"Ohh..."

Song-woo's gaze lingered on the word for a moment, and then he gasped and clapped his hands together.

"Whoa! Don't tell me—Cis AB?"

"That's right. Cis AB."

Cis AB.

A rare ABO blood type mutation found sporadically in the Jeolla region and Japan's Kyushu island. The patient is actually type A, but standard testing displays the results as if he were type AB—that's how it's usually explained.

"So temperature was the problem all along."

This rare blood type can yield different results depending on temperature. Tested at room temperature (25℃), both the A and B antibodies read negative, making the blood appear to be type AB. But tested at a low temperature (4℃), the dormant B antibody activates—revealing that the blood is actually type A.

"So now..."

Hope crept into Song-woo's voice.

"Yeah. Now we just transfuse him with type A blood."

I let out a long breath of relief.

Everything finally made sense. The reason the patient had developed a delayed hemolytic reaction out of nowhere was precisely because he was Cis AB. We'd given AB-type-matching blood to a patient who was, in reality, type A—so the reaction had come calling, only late.

Fortunately, Cis AB doesn't trigger a particularly violent immune response.

But now that I had the full picture, I didn't need to worry about another adverse reaction.

"His Rh is normal too, so we don't need anything rare. Regular type A blood will ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠do. Let's contact the Blood Bank right away."

I moved fast.

The patient was in critical condition, sepsis and DIC both progressing. He was a ticking time bomb—massive hemorrhage could erupt at any moment. If we didn't secure transfusion packs in advance, we'd likely find ourselves helpless at the exact moment we needed them most.

Out of urgency, I called directly instead of placing a computerized order. There was no telling when that insane Orthopedics department might burn through every last unit of type A as well.

Brrrrring—

The internal hospital phone droned on with its monotonous ringtone, seemingly forever. Just as I was beginning to wonder if the Blood Bank was simply swamped, someone picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Lee Jeong-uk from Cardiology."

"Yes. Park Su-chan, Laboratory Medicine, at your service."

That characteristically laid-back voice came through the receiver. Out of everyone in this entire hospital, of course Su-chan would be the one to answer. Things were going almost suspiciously smoothly.

"Perfect timing, Su-chan."

Park Su-chan was my med school classmate. Unlike me, who'd lucked into becoming a full professor early, he was still stuck as a fourth-year fellow (assistant professor) because none ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the people above him would vacate their seats—my poor friend. With him, the request I was about to make would go down that much easier.

"My patient just turned out to be Cis AB, and he might need a transfusion. Can you set aside a few type A packs for me? I'll put in the formal order later."

"You realize you're asking me to siphon blood off the guy who manages the Blood Bank, right?"

Su-chan's voice was thick with disbelief.

His reaction was only natural. Under normal circumstances, this was the kind of favor you should never ask. Those transfusion packs might end up being needed by someone else. Done carelessly, it could cost me my job.

But that was all under the assumption that this hospital still operated normally.

"Well? What do you say."

I replied breezily. "That blood is Echo-replenished stock anyway—it barely shows up properly in the system. And honestly, it's a hundred times better than letting those lunatics in Orthopedics waste it on who knows what."

At the very least, I was using it to save an actual person.

A sigh drifted through the receiver. Even so, Su-chan grumbled under his breath and began checking the inventory.

"How many units?"

"Generously—5 units?"

"That's way too conspicuous. Let's say 3. That's about the most I can pull without it standing out."

"4 units."

"Ugh, fine, fine. 4 units."

"Okay. Thanks."

I was chuckling as I reached to hang up the phone.

"Seriously, thank you. That's a real weight off my—"

But Su-chan held the line.

"By the way, Jeong-uk. You're going to have to come pick them up yourself."

"What?"

"Takeout only, sir."

I frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean? Delivery's not part of the service?"

"Deliver it to who, exactly? An intern? A nurse? Tell me—who else can move freely around the wards right now besides you?"

"Ah."

Come to think of it, he had a point.

In this hospital, simply moving from one ward to another was a life-or-death gamble. Granted, not every department had fully resonated, so some people still bravely crossed over into other wards. The problem was that most of them never came back.

"I really have to go in person? Can't you send it like a specimen—through the transport robot?"

"If you want to watch people strip the transfusion packs right off the robot mid-route, by all means, go ahead."

Su-chan's voice was pure sarcasm.

"People are snatching them?"

"Your Cardiology ward keeps its order because you're there. The other departments aren't so lucky. Nobody knows who's an Entity, nobody knows who'll resonate next. So doctors and patients are quietly smuggling out medications while they still can."

"Oh..."

This was news to me.

"Apparently you really had no idea. This hospital is a lawless zone now. People order more meds than their patients need, 'for the patients,' of course. The brazen ones file fake orders. The worst just raid the pharmacy outright."

"For what, exactly...?"

"Stockpiling, I'd guess. Nobody knows how long we'll be trapped in this fog. Like those soldiers who went berserk in the lobby a while back."

"Ah..."

I was at a loss for words.

Ever since we'd been sealed inside the hospital, interdepartmental contact had all but ceased, so naturally I had zero visibility into how anywhere else was running. My own ward was my safe zone, which meant I'd been completely blind to everyone else's situation.

"You genuinely had no clue, huh."

"I've gotten complacent."

Su-chan changed the subject with zero subtlety.

"Anyway—come get them yourself. If I send a cart, someone might lift the contents right out of it."

"Got it. I'm on my way."

I hung up and stared blankly into the air for a moment.

"Um... Professor?"

Song-woo called out to me cautiously.

I rose from my seat.

"Song-woo, I'm stepping out to the Blood Bank for a bit. Keep an eye on the patients."

"Yes, Professor. Be careful out there."

Leaving behind Song-woo's worried eyes, I stepped out of the department.

Stepping into the corridor, a familiar scene unfolded around me. Nurses bustled back and forth; patients walked the halls with their families. A hospital routine no different from any ordinary day.

I had left the Cardiology ward behind and was heading toward the Blood Bank. I was just passing the Pediatrics ward ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠when—

"Why, Professor Lee Jeong-uk!"

A middle-aged woman was waving at me from in front of a pediatric patient room, apparently the guardian of one of the patients there.

I had no idea who she was. But a stranger acting familiar with me wasn't particularly strange in itself.

"Good afternoon!"

She greeted me in an excessively cheerful voice.

"Hello."

I returned the greeting briefly.

Under normal circumstances, I would have welcomed her with a bright smile of my own. Calming anxious patients and their families in situations like this was, in a sense, part of a professional's job.

But maybe it was because of that phone call. This guardian, approaching me so warmly, suddenly felt like she had some other motive.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to bother a busy man."

She drew closer and bowed politely.

"But Professor, by any chance..."

She let the sentence trail off, her eyes sweeping quickly down both sides of the corridor. Looking closer, several other women—presumably fellow guardians—were glancing our way from the corners of their eyes.

"My child is admitted to Pediatrics right now."

Her voice dropped lower.

"And with things being the way they are at the hospital lately, I'm... a little nervous..."

As she spoke, her gaze wasn't on my face at all—it was sweeping over my gown's pockets, as if trying to see through the fabric to whatever lay inside. Then her eyes moved to my chest pocket, fixed themselves on my name tag, and she continued.

"By any chance, Professor... you wouldn't happen to have spare antipyretics or antibiotics on you, would you?"

Her voice took on a wheedling sweetness.

"The Pediatrics doctors say they're running low on medicine, but you see, I saw it. The other departments have been quietly... um... doing that sort of thing."

Polite words. Entirely impolite content.

Threaded through them was a suspicion dressed up as reason—the assumption that I, too, like the other departments and doctors, must have a stash tucked away somewhere.

She took another step closer.

"Please, Professor. I'm begging you. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Instead of answering, I checked my wristwatch. My shoulders rose and fell with a long sigh.

"I'm sorry."

I took a step back from her.

"I have a patient in critical condition."

"Oh. Is that so..."

Her smile stiffened almost imperceptibly. Her disappointment, it seemed, was too large to hide behind a smile.

"Then sometime later, when you have a moment... if you'd at least take my number..."

Or maybe she simply suspected I was lying.

"I think you should discuss this with his pediatrician."

I didn't prolong the conversation. I gave a short bow, walked past her, and moved on.

"Ah... yes, fine..."

A voice no longer bothering to mask its resentment trailed after my back.

A few steps later, I found my pace naturally slowing. My hand drifted to my gown pocket. I pulled out my ballpoint pen and clicked the knock button at the end a few times—press, release, press, release.

Click. Click. Click.

"Tsk."

Where is there even left to be disappointed in people at this point?

Back when he was needed, they'd sung my father's praises as a hero. Then, once the disaster had been cleaned up and someone had to answer for it, they'd hung their accusations on a dead man.

People are, at their core, creatures of convenience. I knew that better than anyone.

So what exactly had I been expecting, just now?

Click.

I slid the pen back into my pocket and picked up my pace.

And so I made my way through Pediatrics, toward the Blood Bank. I was crossing the skybridge on the second floor when the first-floor lobby suddenly erupted into commotion.

?

At first, it was nothing more than a faint murmur from far away—no doubt the anxious chatter of patients, or guardians exchanging worried words, I told myself.

But the noise kept growing.

ROOOAR—

"What is that?"

"Look over there!"

People were shouting toward the lobby.

I stopped walking and moved to the railing.

And then—

ROOOAR—!

An exhaust scream tore through the air and reverberated through the entire hospital.

My heart lurched, hard.

That sound. I knew that sound.

I rushed to the second-floor railing and looked down at the lobby. Beyond the glass, the hospital's entrance was still shrouded in that gray fog—the cursed mist that permitted no one to leave.

And from beyond that fog, another violent engine roar rang out.

"No way..."

ROOOAR—! SCREEECH!!

A violent hunk of metal punched straight through the gray curtain.

ROOOAR—! SCREEECH!!

A motorcycle.

Dragging a pitch-black skid mark across the ground in front of the entrance, it braked to a halt. The shriek of tires raking the pavement. White smoke billowing up from the friction heat.

And through that smoke, the rider revealed herself.

Every eye in the lobby snapped toward her at once. Security guards edged toward the entrance with tense expressions. Patients watched the motorcycle, equal parts fear and fascination.

"Woo-hoo! It actually made it through!"

Bursting out from inside the black helmet was a woman's voice—startlingly bright and buoyant.

Seo Siho.

The moment she pulled the helmet fully off, her long black hair, compressed inside it, came cascading down all at once. Whatever adrenaline-fueled madness she'd been through in that fog, her cheeks were flushed a faint red.

She shook her head slowly from side to side. Her black hair scattered once more, then again—like silk. Strands separated and swayed in the air one by one before settling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠naturally along the line of her neck and shoulders.

The red-eyed woman tied back her freshly freed hair and dismounted the bike with her chin held high.

With her off the bike, the battered state of her riding suit became all the more visible. That sleek rider jacket I'd seen before was no longer zipping shut, and it had torn in places here and there, baring slivers of bare skin. She seemed to have given up on the broken zipper altogether—half of it hung open, revealing what looked like a black t-shirt (?) beneath.

And where the jacket had burst open and the t-shirt failed its duty—that sliver of cleavage was... uh... hmm...

How does someone fight with a body like that...?

No wait—is it because of a body like that that she can fight?

I was staring blankly at that thought when I hastily shook my head.

What is wrong with you, you lunatic.

Meanwhile, she strode boldly toward the entrance. Security guards who didn't know her yet approached warily, keeping their distance.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Hospital access is currently restricted, so..."

"Oh, it's fine."

At the entrance she glanced around as if searching for something, then lifted her head—and her eyes met mine, up on the second floor.

Her face lit up, and she waved.

"Professor! I'm here!"

"Huh...?"

"Sorry I'm late, sir—had to bust out of Yongsan. Nothing went wrong while I was gone, right?"

At her sunny, untroubled face, I debated what on earth to say back—

and then, leaning against the railing, I let out a chuckle.

"There is nothing here that hasn't gone wrong."

"Aww. Well, that's just perfect, then."

She stuck her thumb up in the air.

"Because that means there's work for me to do."