He's always boasted that he's a 'winner' – but it's not quite true.
He would be more accurately described as a 'survivor' – 'winner' implies he's beaten something, when in reality his existence on this earth – the place he's gotten to right now even – is all because of chance. Chance that his father's pickled sperm managed to connect with his mother's egg – the fact that he managed to make it to term inside his mother's toxic womb – that he survived his family for eighteen years, then college and medical school and his internship years, Jordan – Any of these events could have, should have destroyed him, yet here he was. He survives.
He picks his way down the hallway, stepping over the corpses of his friends and coworkers –
It came so fast – so hard that they didn't know they were eyebrow-deep in shit until it was far far too late.
They were triaging and dosing out antibiotics as fast as they can – and when they'd finally realized the pointlessness of it all they'd started cleaning out all their stocks of sedatives and painkillers in larger than normal doses.
It may have been a violation of 'first do no harm' but it was basic human decency to do what they did, and if there is a court left after all this then he would tell them the exact same thing…
Except that he doubted that there were enough of them left out there to fill a jury box.
When his friends – when his family – become his patients he forgoes the usual precautions, placing himself directly in the path of danger –
He fell asleep last night, exhausted and sick sick sick – and absolutely certain that this is the night that he will go down with his ship.
He woke up the next morning to realize that he is still adrift at sea while his ship rests at the bottom of the ocean.
His ears ring from the silence as he steps out into the street – no cars, no people –
He has survived once again – and he howls at the agony of it.