54: Top-level medical security

The sound of the helicopter's rotors was kept very low.

It wasn't the rumbling sound of a civilian aircraft. It was muffled and heavy, like distant thunder. Three black-painted helicopters, without their navigation lights on, flew close to the rooftops.

The medical room was on the top floor. The entire floor had been cleared out—seven hundred square meters that was originally a private club's banquet hall. Now it was empty, with a medical bed in the center surrounded by a ring of equipment. ECG monitors, ventilators, defibrillators, blood purification machines, and extracorporeal circulation machines. They were all the latest models, their metal casings reflecting cold light under the surgical lamps.

Chen Xi lay on the medical bed.

Tubes and lines were connected to his body. Electrode pads were stuck to his chest, an IV cannula was inserted into his arm, and an oxygen tube was in his nose. His face was as white as paper, and his lips were purple. His eyelids were closed, but his eyeballs underneath were moving rapidly, darting left and right as if he were having a nightmare.

The numbers on the monitor screen jumped.

Heart rate: 15.

Blood pressure: 50/25.

Blood oxygen: 63%.

The alarm sounded. It was soft but piercing. Beep—beep—beep—

A nurse in green scrubs rushed over and silenced the alarm. Her fingers quickly tapped the monitor panel to adjust the parameters. Then she turned and shouted, "Director Wang!"

The door opened.

A group of people flooded in. There were seven of them, all wearing deep blue protective suits, goggles, and masks. Their faces were obscured, but their movements were fast and efficient. Leading the way was a short man with the word "Wang" written on his suit.

Director Wang walked to the bedside.

He didn't look at Chen Xi; he looked at the monitor first. He watched it for five seconds.

"Complete blood count," he said.

A tall man behind him immediately opened a silver case he was carrying. He took out a collection tube, knelt down, and searched for a vein on Chen Xi's arm. His hand was steady; the needle went in, and dark red blood was drawn into the tube. He filled three tubes.

"Send them for testing," the tall man said, handing the tubes to the person beside him.

The person took them and ran out the door.

Director Wang leaned over and peeled back Chen Xi's eyelids. He shone a flashlight into the pupils. The pupils were dilated and non-reactive to light.

"Cranial CT," he said.

Two nurses pushed over a portable CT machine. The machine wasn't large, resembling a large vacuum cleaner. The probe scanned over Chen Xi's head, emitting a slight hum.

Images popped up on the screen.

Grayish-white, the brain structure was clear. No bleeding, no edema, no space-occupying lesions. Everything was normal.

"Chest X-ray," Director Wang said.

The nurses swapped machines. The X-ray was taken.

The image appeared.

Lung markings were clear, heart contour was normal, and ribs were intact. No pneumothorax, no effusion, no fractures.

"Abdominal ultrasound."

Coupling gel was applied to the ultrasound probe, which was moved across Chen Xi's abdomen. On the screen, the liver, spleen, kidneys, pancreas... all organs were in their proper places. Size was normal, shape was normal. No rupture, no bleeding.

Director Wang stood up straight.

He looked at the monitor.

Heart rate: 14.

Blood pressure: 49/24.

Blood oxygen: 62%.

The numbers were dropping.

But all the test results showed that this person's body was intact. No damage, no lesions, no organic changes.

"Temperature," Director Wang said.

A nurse pointed a thermometer gun at Chen Xi's forehead.

A beep sounded.

"36.2 degrees," the nurse reported.

Normal temperature.

Director Wang was silent for three seconds.

Then he turned and said into the microphone on his protective suit, "Initiate full-body PET-CT."

"Director, the radiation dose—"

"Initiate it."

"Yes, sir."

The sound of rolling wheels came from outside. An even larger machine was pushed in. PET-CT, Positron Emission Tomography. It could show cellular metabolic activity.

Chen Xi was moved onto the scanning bed.

The machine started. The humming lasted for ten minutes.

The images came out.

Color images. Red represented high metabolic areas, and blue represented low metabolism.

The image of Chen Xi's body... was blue. Almost entirely blue. Only the heart's position had a tiny bit of faint red.

"Metabolic rate... extremely low," the operator's voice was dry. "Equivalent to a state of deep anesthesia. No, lower than that. Close to... a vegetative state."

Director Wang walked to the screen.

He stared at that expanse of blue.

"EEG," he said.

An electrode cap was placed on Chen Xi's head. Thirty-two leads.

The waveforms appeared.

They weren't normal alpha or beta waves. They were flat. Almost a straight line. Occasionally there was a small fluctuation, like the ventricular fibrillation waves on an ECG before death.

"Brain activity... nearly vanished," the EEG technician said.

Director Wang didn't speak.

He walked back to the bedside.

He looked down at Chen Xi.

Chen Xi's breathing was very shallow. His chest barely moved; he was entirely dependent on the ventilator to pump air. Whoosh—hiss—whoosh—hiss—the mechanical sound echoed.

"Director," the tall man walked over, "the blood results are back."

He handed over a stack of reports.

Director Wang took them and flipped through quickly.

Blood Routine: Red blood cell count normal, white blood cells normal, platelets normal.

Coagulation: Normal.

Liver and Kidney Function: Normal.

Myocardial Enzymes: Normal.

Infection Markers: Normal.

Toxicology Screen: Negative.

All indicators were within the normal range.

A person whose bodily indicators were all normal, yet had a heart rate of 14, blood pressure of 49/24, blood oxygen of 62%, and brain activity that had nearly vanished.

It made no sense.

Director Wang put down the reports.

He took off his goggles and mask. He revealed a square-jawed face in its fifties, his brow tightly furrowed.

"Transmit all data back to Headquarters," he said. "I request an expert group consultation."

"Yes, sir."

The data transmission began.

Five minutes later, the large screen on the side wall of the medical room lit up. It was divided into six windows, each showing a face. Men and women, young and old. They were all top experts in the country. Neurology, Critical Care Medicine, Pain Medicine, Psychology, Quantum Physics, Bioengineering.

"Director Wang," a white-haired old man in the middle window spoke. "We've seen the situation. What's your assessment?"

Director Wang took a deep breath.

"The patient's physiological manifestations are consistent with severe traumatic shock combined with multi-organ failure," he said. "But all examinations fail to find a source of trauma. No bleeding, no fractures, no organ damage. Blood indicators are normal, imaging is normal. Yet his body... is dying."

"Quantum Entanglement Injury," a woman with glasses in the right window said. "That's what we're naming it for now. Injury at the consciousness level directly mapping to the physiological level. The body 'believes' it is injured, so it exhibits the reactions of being injured."

"How do we treat it?" Director Wang asked.

There was a moment of silence.

"Traditional medical means... are ineffective," the white-haired old man said. "You can't treat a wound that doesn't exist."

"What about supportive therapy?"

"It can be done. But it treats the symptoms, not the cause," another expert said. "You can use vasopressors to maintain blood pressure, a ventilator to maintain breathing, and blood purification to maintain the internal environment. But as long as that 'consciousness injury' remains, the body will continue to fail."

"How long can he hold on?"

"It depends on his willpower," the woman with glasses said. "If his consciousness can... pull through over there, his body here might recover in sync. If he can't pull through..."

She didn't finish the sentence.

But everyone understood the meaning.

Director Wang looked at the monitor.

Heart rate: 13.

Blood pressure: 48/23.

Blood oxygen: 61%.

Thirty-seven minutes had passed.

"Should we start ECMO?" the tall man asked.

Director Wang shook his head.

"ECMO is for people with heart and lung failure," he said. "His heart and lung functions... from a physiological standpoint, are fine. It's just that the body 'thinks' they've failed. ECMO won't help, and it might even cause real damage."

"Then what do we do?"

"Maintain the status quo," Director Wang said. "Increase the vasopressors, adjust the ventilator parameters, continue the blood filtration. And then... wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for him to wake up," Director Wang said. "Or wait for Headquarters... to come up with another way."

The orders were given.

The nurse adjusted the drug pump. The vasopressor flow rate was increased from 5 ml/hr to 8. Ventilator parameters were adjusted, tidal volume was increased, and the respiratory rate was sped up. The blood filtration machine continued to run, dark red blood circulating through the tubes.

The numbers on the monitor... didn't change.

Heart rate was still 13.

Blood pressure 48/23.

Blood oxygen 61%.

They were as if nailed down, motionless.

Director Wang walked to the window.

Outside, dawn was approaching. The deep blue was receding, turning into a grayish-white. The city hadn't fully awakened yet; the streetlights were still on, glowing amber.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He took one out and put it in his mouth. He didn't light it.

He just held it there.

"Director," the tall man walked over, "a call from Headquarters."

He handed over an encrypted communicator.

Director Wang took it and held it to his ear.

"Hello."

"It's me," Director Long's voice said.

"Director Long."

"How's the situation?"

"Not optimistic," Director Wang said. "We've used every medical means available, to no avail. His body... is dying according to a script. We're just using machines to forcibly slow it down."

"How long can you delay it?"

"Depends on drug tolerance. Maybe a few hours, maybe less."

There was silence on the other end.

Breathing could be heard. It was heavy.

"Director Wang," Director Long said, "I want you to guarantee one thing."

"Go ahead."

"Do not give up until his heart stops."

Director Wang gripped the communicator tightly.

"I guarantee it," he said.

The call ended.

Director Wang handed the communicator back to the tall man.

He walked back to the bedside.

He looked at Chen Xi.

Chen Xi's eyelids were still moving. The eyeballs underneath darted rapidly, left, right, left, right. As if he were struggling, as if he were fighting something.

"Just what... are you experiencing over there?" Director Wang whispered.

No one answered.

There was only the ticking of the monitor.

The hissing of the ventilator.

The hum of the blood filtration machine.

And from outside the window, the distant sound of the city waking up.

Car engines.

Birds chirping.

The sound of street sweepers.

A new day had begun.

But the person on the bed might not see today's sun.

Director Wang reached out and wiped the sweat from Chen Xi's forehead.

The sweat was icy.

Like the cold sweat of a dead man.

"Hold on," Director Wang said, his voice very low. "Kid, hold on."