"The boys in black might be a few minutes tonight, Doc. We were right back on after a non-transport call, took us less then a minute to respond, and we were long gone before I heard the sirens."

As he'd spoken, Travis was pulling his clipboard box from the rocket bag, ticking down information quickly before passing it over. Despite the reputation amongst most of the medical profession, EMT's had escaped the stigma of terrible handwriting and scrawled signatures. Two years of practice had his penmanship blocky and clear, his signature loopy but recognizable. And even as he was handing it off, Travis was already reporting.

"So we pushed about 3200 cc's Saline, another 1200 Ringers Lactate. We did our best to open him up to it, gave him a rescue-- 30 atropine, 15 epinephrine. His BP dropped from 100/82 to 85/60 on scene, with no further loss in transport."

Josh had finished their trauma kit and left it on the desk to go refill their supplies, so the dark haired EMT grabbed the green box and held it under the board. "We've got your blood and spewdom tests done on the way--negative on narcs and barbs, but spewdom came back a grainy positive for coke."

It was concise, given quickly and easily with the ease of practice. Travis could have done this part in his sleep, and he held out the board with a half smile, tired but genuine, 

"I think that's all I got for you, doc."