Medical Center. Cafeteria.
The chubby guy, Stu, was acting all wild and rowdy, like something straight out of Battle Through the Heavens. Adam, though, was starting to feel queasy. He just put down his knife and fork, grabbed his tray, and bailed.
"Dr. Duncan!"
He'd barely stepped out of the cafeteria when he ran smack into John Carter, a med intern, strolling over with a lunchbox in hand.
"Carter."
Adam kept walking, giving him a quick nod.
For your average worker, slacking off and stretching out lunch breaks—maybe even sneaking in a paid bathroom break—was the ultimate win. The longer the lunch, the better. But for Adam, who was basically earning extra years of life, shorter lunches were the goal. These days, he was strong enough to hold his own. Sure, his status kept him from going all out, but in the ER, saving a life every couple of days was enough to balance out his lifespan usage and gains.
In other words, if things kept going like this, he could keep it up forever—or at least until humans didn't need doctors anymore, replaced by some sci-fi gizmo like the all-in-one medical pods from Elysium. By then, though, he'd be "Adam Trillionaire," and healing people wouldn't even be on his radar.
John Carter blinked, then hurried to catch up.
"Lesson two," Adam said, glancing over at Carter, who was practically jogging to keep pace. "You've gotta adapt to what your supervising doctor needs. Us higher-ups are usually swamped, so half the time, you'll be like this—rushing to give a quick, sharp report while they're on their way to the OR."
"Yes, Dr. Duncan!" Carter nodded like his head was on a spring.
"Something up?" Adam prompted.
"Oh, uh, yeah!" Carter fumbled, then held out his lunchbox with a grin. "I braised some pig's feet. Wanna try it, Dr. Duncan? Tell me what you think?"
Adam chuckled and stopped in his tracks.
They'd reached the ER by now. The sharpest nurse at the station—let's call her the "know-it-all nurse"—spotted Carter just standing there with his lunchbox, no follow-through. She smacked her forehead, strode over, popped the lid off the lunchbox, and grabbed a clean glove.
"Dr. Duncan?" she said, holding it out.
"Thanks, Violet," Adam replied, all smooth and practiced. He held out his hands, letting her slip the glove on like a pro. Then he picked up one of the braised pig's feet, gave it a once-over, and, under Carter's eager stare, took a bite.
"So? How is it?" Carter asked, practically bouncing.
"Too sweet," Adam said, shaking his head. He set the pig's foot down and clapped Carter on the shoulder. "But I appreciate the effort."
With that, he walked off.
"Too sweet?" Carter frowned. "Didn't taste sweet to me."
"Hmm, it's decent work," the know-it-all nurse said, already chowing down on the piece Adam had bitten. "Everyone's got different tastes. Dr. Duncan leans more Eastern—our Western stuff tends to be sweeter. We're used to it, so we don't notice."
Westerners love their sweets, after all. Candy, donuts—you name it. To someone not into it, it's like sugar overload.
"Eastern tastes?" Carter looked confused. "But isn't Dr. Duncan American?"
"Sure, but some Americans are all about Eastern flavors," she said, happily munching away. "I've noticed a bunch of times—his assistant brings him legit Eastern dishes. If you wanna impress him, find a real-deal Eastern chef and learn a trick or two. He'll definitely take notice."
"That sounds like a hassle," Carter groaned.
"Hah!" The nurse smirked. "A hassle? You've got no idea how many people would kill for a chance to 'hassle' over him. Next year, when he's a resident, med students like you won't even get close. I'm only giving you pointers 'cause you seem decent. No effort, no reward—if you're expecting handouts, steer clear of Dr. Duncan!"
"No, no, I didn't mean it like that!" Carter backpedaled fast. "Next break I get, I'll track down an authentic Eastern chef and learn something good."
"What about this pig's foot?" She'd finished one and was eyeing the last one in the box.
"You like it? It's yours," Carter said, finally catching a hint.
"Nice." She grabbed it with a satisfied nod, then gave him a look. "Since you're showing some heart, I'll do you one more solid."
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She crooked a finger, motioning Carter to follow her to the nurse's station. Rifling through a drawer, she pulled out a card and handed it to him. "This is the chef from Dr. Duncan's favorite restaurant. If you've got the guts to learn from him directly, it'll save you a ton of trouble."
"Thanks!" Carter said, genuinely grateful.
That little tip? A total game-changer. Most people wouldn't dream of it—an amateur begging lessons from a top-tier chef? Get real. But Carter's family wasn't loaded or anything, just solid middle-class—above average, which, let's be honest, already puts you ahead of 70-80% of folks. Push time forward, with wealth piling up in fewer hands, not dragging down the average might mean outdoing 90% of people. Getting "averaged out" is gonna be the real curse someday.
Time flies in a hospital. Blink, and weeks go by.
The big news lately? Peggy finally "gave birth" to Adam's "first kid"—the Duncan-Adler Formula. He dropped a paper on it, and the medical world went nuts. Pair that with some "casual" leaked footage of his lecture with the legendary Alice Gray circulating among docs, and Adam Duncan, genius doctor, was getting serious props from the pros. Thrilled, he made sure to thank Peggy big-time.
Fast forward to November 1st—Halloween in the States. Adam was at work as usual. He'd planned to skip cooking after his shift and head to New Jersey to hang with Peggy for the holiday, but she wasn't feeling it. So, he stayed late at the hospital instead. With all those trick-or-treaters out there, someone was bound to end up unlucky—and the medical center was buzzing.
Late that night, back at his apartment, he was grinding through some math study—slow and steady wins the race, right? Then came a knock.
He peeked through the security cam and cracked a grin. Standing outside was a tall, slim figure in a black hooded robe. Sensing him watching, she glanced up at the camera, revealing a face half-covered by a brass filigree mask. Straight out of Eyes Wide Shut. Who else but Alice Kidman?
Adam opened the door, letting her in. She stepped inside without a word, peeled off the mask, and shrugged off the robe. Underneath? A tight white fish-scale outfit, a silver crown perched on her head, long wet hair clinging to her cold, stunning face. In her early twenties, dressed like that, she was drop-dead gorgeous.
"I love Halloween," Adam thought to himself, and that was the last thing on his mind.
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