A man was a surgeon at the hospital. He was an ordinary joe, had his highs and his lows, but was normally a good practitioner and was respected among his colleagues. He was the type of person you could rely on, down-to-earth and reasonable.
Tragically, however, one of his patients died on the operating table, and he was loath to put on her the signature red hospital wrist band that marked her as dead. She had seemed a charming girl when she had been going in, despite her weakness from the disease, and so he left work sunken and depressed. However, it was his job to close up the ER room he worked in, so he would have to stay at work a little longer.
As he ambled into the elavator, he punched the button to go up to the 4th floor, running his hand through his hair and shuffling to the back of the box. On the 3rd floor, another girl entered the elevator, and she smiled, crossing her arms and standing next to the man.
The fourth floor button blinked, and the doors slid open. Another girl stood the in the doorway, and she smiled as well and began to enter. Suddenly the man noticed something, and in panic, he leapt forward and pressed the button to close the elevator door. It closed before the woman could enter, and he frantically punched the button to go to the 1st floor.
The girl in the elevator with him frowned.
"What's wrong?" she questioned, walking over to stand next to him.
"The woman that was going to come in," the man gasped, shaking. "She was the woman I operated on today- she died on the operating table."
The girl's eyes widened. "That's horrible. And she almost got inside. How'd you tell?"
The man pointed to his own wrist. "When a patient dies, you put a red wristband on them. Besides that, I could recognize her face. But the red wristband was the real kicker- nobody else can get those without permission from me."
The girl paused for a moment, then smiled again, looking down at her own wrist. "You mean this one?"
