Morrigan: Year 3101.

Morrigan stumbled down the alley, her dress soaked in blood. Her bare feet scraped against the rough pavement, each step sending jolts of pain through her battered body. Blood trickled down her face from a gash on her forehead, blurring her vision.

She spotted a dumpster tucked against the wall. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. Gritting her teeth, she dragged herself behind it and slumped to the ground. The metal was cool against her back as she leaned against it, cradling her injured arm.

Morrigan closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She could feel her body working overtime, knitting flesh and mending bone. It wasn't fast enough. She needed time, but time was a luxury she didn't have.

The world began to spin, fatigue and blood loss taking their toll. Morrigan fought to stay conscious, but it was a losing battle. Her eyelids grew heavy, and despite her best efforts, she felt herself slipping away.

As darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, Morrigan's last coherent thought was a hope that she'd wake up before the police found her. Then, she surrendered to the void.

Morrigan's consciousness drifted in the darkness, a strange sensation for a vampire who hadn't truly slept in centuries. Blood loss had forced her into this state, an ironic twist that brought her closer to humanity than she'd been in years.

As she sank deeper into unconsciousness, her mind conjured up images from a past she thought long forgotten. The streets of New York City in 2801 materialized around her, a far cry from the futuristic Paris she'd just left behind.

The city was a shithole, just as she remembered. Rain pelted the cracked pavement, creating puddles that reflected the flickering signs above. Homeless people huddled in doorways, their faces gaunt and hopeless. Insects scurried across the sidewalk, crawling between discarded food wrappers and broken bottles.

She still remembers it like it was yesterday. That time when she walked down the hospital corridor, clipboard in hand. She was still wearing her white scrub suit during her graveyeard shift.

"Hey, Morri," called out her colleague, Sarah. "You finish with Mr. Johnson in 305?"

"Yeah, just wrapped up. Old bastard's still complaining about the food," Morrigan replied, rolling her eyes.

"What'd he expect? Five-star cuisine?"

Sarah chuckled, leaning against the nurse's station. "You'd think we were running a Michelin-starred restaurant instead of a hospital."

Morrigan dropped her clipboard on the counter. "I swear, if I hear one more complaint about the Jell-O, I'm gonna lose my shit."

"Speaking of losing shit, did you hear about Dr. Perkins?" Sarah lowered her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

"No, what's that creep done now?" Morrigan asked, crossing her arms.

Sarah leaned in closer. "Apparently, he got caught trying to sneak a peek at one of the patients while she was changing. Security had to escort him out."

"Jesus Christ," Morrigan muttered. "That's the third time this year. How the hell is he still working here?"

"Money talks, bullshit walks," Sarah shrugged. "His daddy's on the hospital board, remember?"

Her blood boiled at the thought of Dr. Perkins getting away with his sick behavior. The system was rigged, favoring the rich and connected while screwing over everyone else. It made her want to punch something - or someone. She'd seen this shit play out too many times, good people getting trampled while assholes like Perkins sailed through life consequence-free.

Morrigan shook her head in disgust. "Nepotism. Makes me sick."

"Tell me about it. Hey, you wanna grab a coffee? I've got a few minutes before my next rounds."

"God, yes. I need caffeine if I'm gonna make it through this shift without strangling someone."

They made their way to the break room, dodging gurneys and avoiding eye contact with the more demanding patients. The coffee machine sputtered and hissed as they filled their cups.

As Morrigan and Sarah settled into their seats, the break room door swung open. Two more nurses, Jake and Lena, trudged in, looking as exhausted as Morrigan felt.

"Hey, ladies," Jake called out, making a beeline for the coffee machine. "How's the night treating you?"

"Like a cheap hooker," Morrigan quipped, taking a sip of her coffee.

Lena snorted. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Sarah chimed in. "We were just talking about Dr. Perkins' latest stunt."

Jake groaned. "What'd that creep do now?"

As Sarah filled them in, Jake and Lena's expressions morphed from curiosity to revulsion.

"Fuck me," Lena muttered, shaking her head. "How does he keep getting away with this shit?"

"Daddy's money," Morrigan replied. "Apparently, that's all you need to be untouchable in this place."

Jake leaned back in his chair. "You know, my cousin works at St. Mary's. Says they're always looking for good nurses. Maybe we should all jump ship."

"And leave this paradise?" Sarah said. "Perish the thought."

"Ok, suit yourself," Jake took another sip of his coffee. "Well, gotta go."

"See you later guys," Sarah called out, her voice trailing after them as they exited. Once they're gone, she went back to her friend. "So, any plans for your day off?"

Morrigan took a sip of her black coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. "Sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. Maybe order some takeout if I'm feeling ambitious."

"Wow, living the dream. You should come out with us sometime. Hit up a club, meet some people."

"Yeah, no thanks. I'd rather stick needles in my eyes than deal with drunk assholes trying to grope me all night."

Sarah laughed. "Fair enough. But you can't stay cooped up in your apartment forever, Morri. It's not healthy."

"Watch me," Morrigan said with a smirk. "I'm perfectly content with my Netflix and my cat, thank you very much."

Their conversation was cut short by the wail of sirens. Both nurses turned towards the emergency entrance, already moving into action.

"Incoming!" shouted the head nurse. "Multiple GSWs, critical condition!"

Morrigan and Sarah rushed to the doors as they burst open. Paramedics wheeled in a gurney, blood already seeping through the sheets.

"What've we got?" Morrigan asked, falling into step beside them.

"Male, mid-twenties, three gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen," one paramedic rattled off. "BP's dropping, pulse is thready."

They burst into the trauma room, a flurry of activity as doctors and nurses swarmed the patient. Morrigan grabbed scissors, cutting away the blood-soaked clothes.

"Christ, he's a mess," she muttered, exposing the wounds.

"Morrigan, start a central line," the attending physician ordered. "Sarah, get me four units of O-neg, stat!"

Morrigan found the vein and inserted the catheter. The room was a bedlam of beeping machines and shouted orders.

"He's coding!" someone yelled.

"Starting compressions," Morrigan announced, positioning herself over the patient's chest. She began pumping, feeling ribs crack under her hands.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as they fought to bring the man back. Sweat beaded on Morrigan's forehead, her arms burning with exertion.

But it failed.

The doctor grabbed Morrigan's hand and waved. It was over.

"Time of death, 3:47 AM," the doctor announced.

She stepped back from the gurney and stared at the lifeless body, blood coating her gloves and splattered across her scrubs.

"Fuck," she muttered, stripping off her gloves and tossing them in the biohazard bin.

Another life slipped away, another soul she couldn't save. The weight of death never got easier, no matter how many times she'd seen it. She wondered if this was what pushed some doctors over the edge, made them cold and detached. But she refused to let that happen. She'd keep feeling every loss, keep carrying that pain. It was the price of being human, of giving a damn. And right now, all she wanted was to wash the blood off her hands and forget, just for a moment, that she couldn't save everyone.

Sarah placed a hand on her shoulder. "You did everything you could."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't enough, was it?" Morrigan snapped, shrugging off her friend's touch. She stomped over to the sink, scrubbing her hands with harsh, angry motions.

"Sometimes it's not about what we do," Sarah said, joining her at the sink. "Some people are just too far gone by the time they get here."

She knew her friend meant well, but it felt like a cop-out. Too far gone? Bullshit. They were supposed to be the last line of defense, the ones who pulled people back from the brink. If they started writing off patients as "too far gone," what was the point of any of this? She'd become a nurse to save lives, not to make excuses for why she couldn't. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, worse than the shitty hospital coffee.

Morrigan let out a bitter laugh. "That's supposed to make me feel better? Christ, Sarah, he was our age. Probably had a family, friends, a whole life ahead of him. And now he's just another statistic."

"I know it sucks," Sarah replied. "But we can't save everyone. You know that."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Morrigan grumbled, grabbing a paper towel and drying her hands with more force than necessary. "I need a smoke."

"You don't smoke," Sarah pointed out.

"Well, maybe I'll start," Morrigan retorted, pushing past her friend and heading for the exit.

The cool night air hit her face as she stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the trauma room. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths.

She heard the door open and close, followed by Sarah's voice. "Here."

Morrigan opened her eyes to see her friend holding out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "I thought you quit."

"Keep 'em for emergencies. This seems like one."

Morrigan hesitated for a moment before taking it. She pulled out a cigarette, placing it between her lips and lighting it. The first drag was harsh, making her cough.

"Fuck, that's disgusting," she said, but took another pull anyway.

Sarah lit one for herself, leaning against the wall next to her. They stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the smoke curl up into the night sky.

"You ever wonder if we're making a difference?" Morrigan asked. "Or if we're just... I don't know, pissing in the wind?"

Sarah considered the question. "Some days, yeah. But then I think about the people we do save. The families we help. It's gotta count for something, right?"

Morrigan took another drag, exhaling slowly. "Maybe. Or maybe we're just prolonging the inevitable. Everyone dies eventually."

"Jesus," Sarah said with a laugh. "You're a real ray of sunshine tonight, aren't you?"

"Fuck off," Morrigan replied. She flicked ash onto the ground.

The exhaustion seeped into her bones, a constant companion in this endless battle against death. She wondered if this weariness would ever lift, or if it was the price of caring too much. Part of her wanted to build walls, to shut out the pain. But she knew that would make her no better than the cold, detached doctors she despised. So she'd keep feeling, keep hurting, because that pain meant she was still human.

"I just... I'm tired. Tired of death, tired of pain, tired of watching people suffer."

Sarah nodded. "I get it. But that's the job, you know? We see people at their worst, but we also get to see them at their best. The recoveries, the miracles... that's what keeps me going."

Morrigan fought the urge to roll her eyes at Sarah's optimism. Miracles? In this shithole? She'd seen too much blood, too much pain to buy into that fairy tale. The recoveries were few and far between, barely a drop in the ocean of suffering that flooded through these doors every day. But a part of her envied Sarah's ability to cling to hope. Maybe it made the job easier, made the losses sting less. She couldn't decide if that was admirable or just fucking delusional.

Morrigan finished her cigarette, crushing it under her heel. "Yeah, well, I could use a few more miracles and a lot less bullshit."

"Couldn't we all," Sarah said as she checked her watch. "Break's over. You good to head back in?"

Morrigan sighed, pushing off the wall. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope," Sarah said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, let's go save some lives."