Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch (the seasoned, weary attending) is juggling three critical cases: a motorcycle crash with an open femur fracture, an elderly woman in acute respiratory distress, and a teenager who took an unknown substance at a party.

Pittsburgh's Trinity Medical Center, Emergency Department. 3:00 PM. The pit is in full chaos.

"None of us ever knows enough," Robby says. "That's why we keep showing up."

In the psych hold room, Dr. Sam Collins, the sharp-tongued senior resident, is with a homeless man, Leo, who poured lighter fluid on his arms but didn't light it. Sam sits across from him, not on a chair, but on the floor.

"Why today?" she asks quietly.

Meanwhile, across the pit, first-year resident Dr. Cassie Williams is with Mrs. Gable, 72, whose oxygen saturation is dropping despite bipap. Cassie's hands shake as she calls for intubation supplies.

"You've got this," Robby says, passing by, a brief hand on her shoulder. "Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast."

Robby steadies Marcus's head. "Get me 5 of lorazepam, now. And page tox screen—stat."