#ucihamadara

“Wha-- Hey, you can’t just run out like that! We need to get these patients to safety!” Sakura watched uselessly as the final nurse on the floor helping guide a gurney with a comatose patient threw down his stethoscope and tore down the corridor, doubtlessly to sprint towards the elevator that ended the hall around the bend. Lights flickered ominously as the doctor stood forlornly in the wake of ominous silence, all before the muffled staccato of subautomatic machine guns outside retorted against what the radio had vaguely defined as being terrorists. It was all throughout their Tokyo ward that she was now confined, Sakura inhaling a shaky but fortifying breath.

One of her, six patients on her floor that weren’t able-bodied enough to escape. There had been no warning, to preemptive sign that there would be terrorists targeting their neighborhood. Wheeling the gurney inside, Sakura positioned the old woman against a wall she’d made room in, checked her vitals and the IV tap, and sank in the lone chair nearest the window. The flash of police lights illuminated her exhausted features, the rattling oscillations of a police helicopter and the blinding brightness of a floodlight causing her to wince.