The inside of the ambulance thrums with urgency, the flashing red and blue lights slicing across the interior as the sirens wail against the Texas night.

“The Sky Assassin” Sean Parker lays strapped to a stretcher, pale and motionless, a crimson-soaked hemostatic patch pressed against the stab wound in his left shoulder, inflicted by Azami Kiriyama, formerly known as Starlight Kid.

His broad chest heaves in shallow, ragged breaths as the paramedics worked in tense synchronization.

(Paramedic 1): BP’s dropping; 80 over 50.

The first paramedic tightens the pressure bandage on the patch.

(Paramedic 1): We’ve got a through-and-through. Whatever did this was razor sharp but looks to have missed the subclavian. This guy’s bleeding fast though.

(Paramedic 2): Airway’s compromised, looks like his larynx may be perforated, something’s torn at his throat, looks like a piece of jewellery’s been shoved down it, good God!

The second paramedic shines a penlight into Sean’s eyes.

(Paramus 2): Concussed, dilated pupils, sluggish response. Possible intracranial bleed. Michelle…

The second paramedic looks to Michelle.

(Paramedic 2): …. I need you to keep talking to him. Keep him with us, ok?

Michelle’s voice cracks, but she leans in close, brushing a lock of sweat-matted hair from Sean’s brow.

(Michelle): Hey, Sean, sweetheart, I need you to hang in there, okay? You’re gonna make it. You hear me? You have to make it!

Sean’s eyelids flutter, a rattling breath escaping his lips, and a wet gurgle follows.

(Paramedic 2): We’re losing his airway. Tracheal trauma. We need to intubate now or he’s gone.

Butch meanwhile stands against the wall of the ambulance, fists clenched and knuckles white. The mountain of a man was trembling, trying his damnedest to keep his bubbling anxiety in-check.

Michelle doesn’t look up, her hand tightening around Sean’s. The paramedics were already threading a scope, guiding the tube carefully past the torn edges of Sean’s larynx. Blood bubbles up as they work.

(Paramedic 1): Okay, tube’s in. Bag him, gently!

The ambulance jolts hard as they take a corner at speed. Sean groans, barely conscious. Butch moves closer, towering protectively over him, swallowing the panic rising in his chest.

(Butch): Stay with us, son. Don’t you dare check out now. Not like this. Not like this!

The younger medic presses a finger to his earpiece.

(Paramedic 1): UT Southwestern’s prepped for trauma…. ETA seven minutes.

Michelle leans down, forehead to forehead with Sean, tears spilling freely.

(Michelle): You promised me a wedding. You’re not getting out of it this easy, mister!

Sean’s lips then move, a whisper escaping through blood and breath.

(Sean): Not… on…. your life…

Michelle sobs once, half-laugh, half agony. Relief slams against her chest. He was fighting. Fighting to stay alive, to stay by her side. The few words he managed to speak gave her hope, but he was still in a very serious and fragile condition. She could tell by the look in the paramedics' eyes. The way he looked at her and Butch for fractions of moments with worry and empathy.

(Paramedic 1): Let’s get a look at that hand.

Her hand, she hadn’t felt it until the moment he said that, and suddenly the searing pain roared back with a vengeance. She dare not look at it again. Desperate in her attempts to free herself she pulled so hard she broke skin and it had begun to peel back in a gruesome ring.

(Michelle): No! Sean first!

(Paramedic 1): We’ve done what we can for him, we’ll be at the hospital shortly. You’re bleeding pretty badly. Please!

The paramedic’s voice was kind, gentle. He reached out for her hand still clutched under her armpit and she slowly pulled it out. The skin on her hand had rolled back a good inch.

(Paramedic 1): I need to realign the flaps back to your wrist okay?

She nods. The pain was terrible, but she takes strength from Sean knowing he was feeling far worse. He removes the first set of bandages that were hurriedly wrapped at ringside and grabs a squeeze bottle rinsing her wrist before he begins to reposition her skin. She muffles the outcry of her pain as best she fan, biting her upper lip, eyes tightly shut as he wraps a new bandage around.

(Paramedic 1): There…that will hold until we get you settled in. Try to keep your hand up and your wrist straight.

She nods again. Now that that was over she looks over at Butch then to Sean.

(Michelle): Sean, your uncle is here. Butch is here with us. We’re both counting you on, ok?

An alarm on the cardiac monitor sounds and both Michelle’s and Butch’s heads snap to it, eyes widening.

(Paramedic 1): BP’s still dropping; 77 over 47. He’s going into shock!

Sean’s lips are now a purplish blue, his skin nearly pale as snow. Michelle begins to cry again and looks at Butch with a “Do something” look then back to the paramedic who continues to bag pump air into Sean.

(Michelle): What does that mean?

(Paramedic 1): His organs aren’t getting enough air, we’re two minutes out. Damnit!

Michelle holds Sean’s hand tight with her free one. She leans in and starts kissing his face and stroking his hair with her injured one.

(Michelle): I love you, Sean Parker…you hear me? God is with you. God has you in his arms. He will give you strength. There is nothing beyond his power. He will not let you fall, Sean!

She again looks over at Butch who seems almost as pale as Sean. He’s trying to keep himself in check, for Michelle’s sake, for Sean’s sake, but he’s failing. The tears are welling in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks.

The two minutes feel like the longest both of them have ever went through but suddenly the ambulance grinds to a halt, the doors bursting open under the glare of the trauma bay floodlights, and Sean is rushed out on the stretcher, surrounded by a swarm of ER staff clad in scrubs and urgency.

(Paramedic 1): Twenty-seven-year-old male, professional wrestler, multiple injuries including a clean stab wound through the left shoulder, suspected perforated larynx and a severe concussion, possible grade two. He’s tubed and bagged but his pressure’s dropping and he’s gone into shock. We’ve got active internal bleeding and impaired airway.

Butch is in shock himself, almost catatonic as Michelle tries to follow Sean’s gurney, but a nurse holds her back.

(Nurse): Ma’am, we need you to wait here!

(Michelle): No! I have to go with him, please! He’s my fiancé!

The nurse shakes her head “No” at her.

(Nurse): I’m sorry, that’s not possible. No one is allowed beyond this point. You can wait in the waiting room if you like, someone will be out with an update for you as soon as possible.

Again Michelle looks to Butch, her boss, her future Uncle-In-Law, surely a man of such repute as he had some sway but she saw the relent in his eyes. Unlike her he’s been here before…emergency situations. This wasn’t HWA, this was a hospital and they weren’t superstars here, they were ordinary people subject to the same rules as everyone else. She looks over the nurse's shoulder and watches as the gurney is rushed further away through one set of double doors, then another before they lose sight of him altogether.

(Paramedic 1): This is one too!

The nurse looks from the paramedic to Michelle and her hand.

(Nurse): I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…follow me. Let’s get you checked in.

Michelle looks back at Butch who gives her nod as she walks towards the reception desk. Ultimately, her hand injury did not constitute an emergency and after filling out the necessary paperwork for 10 more minutes, she is forced to sit and wait to be called into the ER. She scans the room to find Butch sitting, elbows on his knees, head pressed down into his clasped hands. He lifts his head as her footsteps approach then lowers it back. There’s silence between them…a terrible, uncomfortable silence like the calm before a storm. After some time, Butch’s mouth feels dry as his lips part to finally speak.

(Butch): Matthew’s here….a few minutes before we arrived. Doctors are with him now.

A pang of shame hits her. “Sensei” she’d almost forgotten about him. She turns to look at Butch but his head is still down. She watches as his broad back rises like a mountain and lowers as he takes a deep breath and exhales. He was carrying not one, but two worries, two burdens. How long would they need to wait? When could she see Sean? When would someone come and give them some news? The few minutes since their arrival seemed like an eternity.

(Michelle): Is there anyone we should call?

She suddenly realizes that she doesn’t have her phone. She was active in the ring obviously and all her belongings were at the arena. Another realization hits her as well and she gasped…her mother had to be in hysterics. She was backstage at the event, she doesn’t know their status, or what’s going on. She can’t reach her or call her. She looks back at Butch.

(Michelle): My mom! She’s by herself there, she’ll be worried about us.

Butch looks up, taking his cellphone out of his pocket and hands it to Michelle.

(Butch): Here, call her, let her know you’re alright. I know how I’d feel if I were in her shoes.

Her hand quivers as she reaches for the phone, her nerves are shot. She calls her mom’s phone but it just goes to voicemail. Maybe the reception was bad, maybe she’s on her way here…HWA officials always took good care of guests backstage so she knew her mother wasn’t entirely alone. She hands the phone back to Butch, but doesn’t comment on her mother. Across from them is a woman with a bandaged head, maybe having been in a car accident. She’s got cuts and bleeding and a young man returns to her side with a glass of water. This waiting was a nightmare. Now that Sean was taken in, it allowed other thoughts to invade her mind alongside worry. What happened? Everything was going so well. Flowers. It was just flowers, she thought. Who? Why? So many questions and she feared the answers to them. A part of her felt like she didn’t belong. Like some mistress in the dark that the light of truth has just shined on. Small, humiliated, this is how she felt, but that is not her Sean, it can’t be. She turns her head to look at Butch.

(Michelle): Do….

Her voice cracks, dry as the brittle words etch out.

(Michelle): Do you know her?

Her voice sounds weak and defeated…the touch of heartbreak apparent. There’s a long pause before Butch finally answers. He sniffles first, pinching the corners of his eyes above the bridge of his nose.

(Butch): I… I thought I did. Azami Kiriyama… Matthew’s only daughter…. the sweetest….

An involuntary light snort escapes Butch’s nostrils.

(Butch): … She was the sweetest little girl. She um… She was Sean’s first-ever proper friend. Matthew came to stay with us for a few days when he and I were still cutting our teeth and he brought her with him. Matthew never talks about it… but his wife died when Azami was born… so she and Sean sort’ve became kindred spirits…. I just remember her as this shy little girl with her dark hair in pigtails, too nervous to even ask me where the bathroom was. The truth is, Michelle… I don’t know what happened in Japan, when Sean went with Matthew after he learned to walk again. He never talks about it, neither does Matthew. But I do know that he loves you… he loves you with all his heart and I promise you if there’s something that he hasn’t told you about his life in Japan, I know for sure it wasn’t because he was hiding anything.

She knew he was trying to quell any doubts in her, but so many remained. Starlight…or this Azami had made a complete fool of her. She’d welcomed her, befriended her and not for one moment suspected she was anything or anyone other than what she presented. And Erica…how many times would she be the fool for her. How was she even involved? Her mind was riddled with thoughts over the last hour. She cried, she was mad and before much longer she heard her name being called.

(Nurse): Learner? Michelle Learner?

She looked at Butch who nodded as she stood and walked with the nurse.

(Nurse): Let’s get you in and get a look at that hand.

(Michelle): Sean….Sean Parker? We’ve been waiting, no one’s come to talk to us, what’s going on?

The nurse looks at her and sees the concern on her face.

(Nurse): One moment, let me check.

The nurse leaves and comes back a few minutes later with a doctor by her side. Butch came to his feet and as Michelle stood, she looked around the room filled with new faces. Many of those previously waiting were gone, now inside getting treatment, their spot filled with new patients waiting.

(Doctor): Dr. Bennet; attending ER Physician. Mr. Parker

Butch nods.

(Doctor): …Ms. Learner… I’m sorry about the wait, as you can see we’re rather full and busy this evening. Sean’s been stabilized and is about to be prepped for surgery. X-Rays show a metallic object lodged in his esophagus, a bit of tearing there and in his left bronchi that will heal on its own in time after extraction. He may need a few routine breathing treatments. He’s lost a lot of blood, test results should be back any minute with his blood type and there’s a high chance he’ll need a transfusion. He’s got a nasty concussion, and a clean but concerning puncture wound. Someone mentioned he was stabbed. Can you confirm what occurred?

Michelle looks at Butch again, the thought, the image, the flashback too much for her to even speak.

(Butch): Yes, with a sword.

(Doctor): That would explain the double penetration. Luckily nothing major was affected, tissue and muscle damage of course. Outstanding that he’s pretty bruised and banged up, but a young man in his condition should recover well enough over time. Because of the severity of his concussion we have to take this one step at a time. We can’t provide sedatives until we see some progress there which could be a number of hours if not a day or so. First, the transfusion to continue stabilizing his vitals and we’ll go from there.

(Michelle): Thank you.

(Doctor): Now….you, young lady. Let’s get that hand looked at, Cynthia will take you in. Any more questions? It may be some time before we have another update for you folks.

The doctor looks to Butch as the nurse starts to escort Michelle inside and she looks back at him.

(Michelle): I won’t be long.

As Michelle is led away by the nurse, Butch mops his face with his hands. He takes a deep breath before bringing his phone out and he texts Wisdom to let her know what’s going on. Eventually, he stands up and approaches the front desk.

(Butch): Excuse me, ma’am.

The front desk nurse looks up with a smile.

(Nurse): Are you alright, sir? You look a little peaky?

(Butch): I’m fine, thank you, long night. Can you show me where Matthew Kiriyama is? He doesn’t have any family. Technically, I’m his boss but he’s my oldest friend. Please, I need to see him, my name is Butch Parker

(Nurse): Let me see what I can do for you, Mr Parker.

The nurse starts typing into her computer and a moment later, she nods.

(Nurse): Looks like he’s suffered a concussion and he’s being kept in for observation but he should be fine. He’s in room 4, ward 3; it’s on the second floor, just take the elevator up.

(Butch): Thank you so much. Can you do me a favor? If the little blonde comes back and I’m not here, can you tell her I’ll be back shortly and that my wife, Wisdom and our friends are on their way?

(Nurse): Of course, Mr Parker.

Butch offers the nurse the smallest semblance of a smile he can muster in the circumstances and proceeds to follow the nurse’s directions to locate Matthew’s room.

Meanwhile, across the hospital, inside Trauma Room 3, the tone is clinical, fast, and focused. A team of surgeons, residents and scrub nurses are gathered around an operating table, with Sean lying on top of it, moving with precision and speed.

(Surgeon 1): Vitals?

(Surgeon 2): Seventy-six over forty. Pulse is thready. We need to get that shoulder wound opened and clamped, he’s losing far too much, far too fast.

(Surgeon 1): Jesus, his airway’s a mess. Bronchial wall’s lacerated. Small tear, right main bronchus. No signs of collapse. With conservative care, it should heal on its own.

The second surgeon nods.

(Surgeon 2): He’s lucky. One inch deeper, and we’d be talking about a lung collapse on top of everything else.

(Surgeon 1): Laryngeal trauma is still the priority. And this foreign object… God.

He gestures to the necklace that Starlight Kid, now revealed to be Azami Kiriyama, shoved down Sean’s throat now resting in a metal tray beside the surgical instruments. He turns back to the scope.

(Surgeon 1): Oesophagus is torn but repairable. We’ve cleared the debris and stabilized the airway. He’ll remain intubated for now.

Meanwhile, another surgeon worked diligently at Sean’s left shoulder, closing the deep stab wound.

(Surgeon 3): Blade passed through soft tissue. Avoided the subclavian artery by sheer luck.

(Anesthesiologist): Second unit of blood is almost in. Third is ready.

A nurse gently wiped blood from Sean’s chest as they finished suturing as the surgeons continued their work. Soon after, The last sutures were tied with quiet precision. Around the table, the surgical team began stepping back.

(Surgeon 1): He’s stable. Vitals are holding. Airway secure. Blood loss replaced.

They had managed to repair Sean’s torn esophagus, irrigated the wound in his shoulder where Azami had stabbed him, and cleared the lodged jewelry that she had shoved down his throat. The small tear in Sean’s bronchus was left to heal under close observation, non-surgical management would suffice if complications didn’t arise.

(Resident): And the concussion?

(Surgeon 2): Severe. Subdural scans were negative for active bleeding, but the swelling is real. Neuro will reassess in ICU. He needs to be monitored hourly for deterioration.

With delicate care, Sean’s sedated body was transferred onto the transport bed, ventilator still in place, surgical dressings fresh and clean where once there had been crimson chaos. The lead surgeon watched for a moment as the team wheeled him toward the double doors.

(Nurse): ICU’s ready, room 5.

(Surgeon 1): Good. Let’s keep him breathing. He’s got a few people waiting for him.

Sean then disappeared through the OR doors, rolling down the long corridor as the scene faded to black.