KEMAL ASLAN.
@StillSeer
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https://t.co/ZC3261BsJc I perceive the unseen, and through that perception, I bend events to my will.
OCRP ╱ IC Themed: Supernatural
Joined May 2014
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ┃ BAGIAN IV : 𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗨 𝗣𝗨𝗞𝗨𝗟𝗔𝗡, 𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗨 𝗣𝗘𝗠𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗠𝗔𝗡.
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A presence without consequence and without haste. “Defibrillate,” Kemal ordered sharply. “Now.” [ @ChantsOfLove ]
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But they were not the ones he was addressing. It was the figure beside him—unhurried, indifferent—quietly sipping matcha as though time were not hemorrhaging from the patient’s veins, as though urgency were a concept beneath notice.
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“Can you be quiet?” Kemal snapped suddenly. His voice thundered through the room, startling the team. The resident froze. The nurse stiffened.
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“Oh God,” he breathed, panic seeping into his voice. The resident and the bedside nurse looked just as unsettled, though they strained to maintain composure. Still, it was not their presence that unsettled him. It was 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦.
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He sensed it before he understood it. The cold was different now—sharper, more invasive. The ICU felt impossibly crowded, despite only four people occupying the space. No footsteps echoed. No door had opened. There was only the cold, pressing in from every direction.
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By all logic, Kemal should have been prepared for this—for the inevitability of death that trailed critical patients like a shadow. And yet, in truth, he was never prepared. Never.
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[ This gesture pisses me off not gonna lie. 🤣 ]
@StillSeer Not one to dilly dally, Cecile entered the room. Plenty of time to introduce herself, calm down the man’s shock, and possibly get him to the afterlife in minutes time. Hands crossed across her chest, Cecile observed the team as she sips on her matcha.
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️️ ️️ #. Kinda true.🧍🏻♀️ ️️ ️️
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He adjusted the IV line himself, hands steady despite the narrowing window. Medicine taught him protocols, algorithms, and probabilities. None of them addressed the way the room suddenly felt crowded, as though something else had entered—unannounced, unseen. [ @ChantsOfLove ]
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The resident hesitated. “Doctor… if this doesn’t stabilize—” “I know,” Kemal cut in, not unkindly. “But we try.”
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Severe cardiogenic shock. Ejection fraction critically low. The heart was more than failing. “Prepare vasopressors¹. Increase norepinephrine²,” he said. His voice remained even, deliberate. It always did, especially when the margin for error vanished.
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ㅤ ㅤKemal stepped closer. The patient’s chest rose shallowly, each breath negotiated, borrowed. He listened—longer than necessary—counting not just the beats, but the spaces between them.
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“Blood pressure?” he asked quietly. “Dropping. Systolic’s barely holding,” the nurse replied, fingers already moving faster than thought.
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ㅤ ㅤThe monitors spoke before anyone did. Their rhythm was uneven. Kemal stood at the foot of the bed, sleeves rolled, stethoscope still warm in his hand. The ICU lights cast him in sterile white, yet his expression was anything but clinical.
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