Ollie looked around the ward. It seemed, for one of the first time in his personal experiences, completely serene. He smiled and took a leisurely stroll past the beds, checking up on a couple of patients and leant against the Nurses' Station. Life was good. He lifted up his coffee and took an uninterrupted gulp. No response. Still no pagers beeping. Still no loud voices. Still no screaming. Not wanting to quit whilst he was ahead, he took another sumptuous, creamy bitter mouthful-

The ward doors banged open and a woman appeared, pulling a wheelchair. The wheelchair seemed to occupied by a circus strongman, screaming. A harpoon stuck out of his shoulder. Ollie coughed and scalding coffee ran down his face and onto his scrubs. The strong man screamed again and a flurry of nurses descended. He could make out the distinct voice of the woman issuing harsh, crisp orders in a brisk London accent. Ollie sighed. Time to wade in.

'Alright, alright!' he yelled, and the hubbub of nurses silenced, but the woman continued to talk, rapidly.

'Get those sheets, we need to put a lot of pressure on this. Page surgery- I don't give a damn how busy they are, they're going to have to fit him in or he'll bleed out, or lose his arm- or both!' The corner of her mouth twitched. The woman seemed to get a sort of macabre pleasure from the idea of a medical disaster. 'Don't just stand there!' she cried at him. 'If we can't get him to surgery within the next fifteen minutes, we'll have to open him ourselves.'

'Who are you?' Ollie managed to get out, between burnt lips.

'Tyler. Doctor. I'm your new F1.'

F1. The shock on Ollie's face must have been clearly visible, but all he got was a cold look and the woman continued to hold down tight in the strongman's shoulder. A nurse busied up with a needle and Tyler injected it straight into the man's elbow. She threw the needle straight into the disposal box and continued to apply forceful pressure. The harpoon quivered.

'You must be Mr Valentine,' Tyler said, extending a hand thickly incrusted with dark blood. Ollie looked at the hand. She was expecting him to shake it? When she didn't retract the hand, his politeness took over and he gave it one, quick shake. 'Pleasure.'

'What are you doing?' Ollie asked, explosively, unable to contain himself much longer. Tyler looked up quickly from checking the strongman's pulse.

'Oh, I do beg your pardon. Marco Valencia, forty seven, I found him in a lift and he said he was trying to get to CT. He then fainted, apparently due to blood loss from the harpoon.' She gestured at the weapon still shivering in the air. One of the nurses had hooked him up to an emergency screen and the frantic beating of Valencia's heart filled the ward.

'No,' Ollie sighed, taking over the pressure on the wound and watching as Tyler prepared another needle. 'What are you doing here?'

'Did Mr Hanssen not mention me? I do hope I haven't caused a problem.' The tone of her voice suggested otherwise, but Ollie pretended to not notice. 'I was doing so spectacularly at med school, my tutor- Mr Hanssen's good friend- suggested I get a position earlier than is the norm. Mr Hanssen kindly suggested here.'

Ollie almost covered his face in his hands, before remembering they were coated in thick blood. The harpoon was beginning to cut through the flesh, sliding towards his fingers and a spurt of dark blood arched over his trainers. An F1 was the last thing he needed right now. Just when everything had been going so well, he had another pair of prying eyes peering at his every move.

'Fine,' he grunted. 'Go and chase up the surgical spot- and quickly!' Keep her out of his way for as long as possible. He didn't need help- what was Hanssen playing at?