[center][h1][color=dimgray]Johnathan[/color] [color=steelblue]Raleigh[/color][/h1][i]The Doctor[/i][/center]
[hider=John Raleigh][center][img]https://s3.postimg.io/uo1z0ppkx/d5td5pp.jpg[/img][/center]
Johnathan "John" P. Raleigh
[i]john.raleigh@uw.edu[/i]
[b]Age:[/b] 41 [b]Hair:[/b] Brown [b]Eyes:[/b] Green
[b]Height:[/b] 5' 11" [b]Weight:[/b] 160 lb

[b]Education[/b]
MD - Johns Hopkins School of Medicine
PhD, Functional Anatomy - Johns Hopkins School of Medicine
BS, Biology - University of California, Los Angeles

[b]Experience[/b]
Senior Trauma Surgeon, UW Medical Center
Trauma Surgeon, UW Medical Center
Surgical Intern, UW Medical Center
Field Medic, NATO Armed Forces

[b]Vignette[/b]
John almost slipped to his knees. The ground underneath his feet shuddered violently from the force of a nearby VTOL personnel carrier firing its main engines. A blue funnel of flame erupted from the massive thrusters down into the ground, crystallizing the soil below. John felt the sound deep in his gut as the ship slowly lifted off and aimed its nose for the blue sky above. He sighed in relief as the pressure on his chest lifted.

"Damn, never get used to that," said the heavily armored trooper next to him. "You OK there Doc? You look a little rattled."

"I'm fine, thanks," he said, straightening up. "We need to get to work, where's our first triage zone?" John reached into a shoulder pouch and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Hell, this one looks bad," he said as he scanned the battlefield surrounding him. Flaming heaps of twisted wreckage scarred the landscape, and bodies in various states of injury littered the space between them.

The soldier pulled a tablet out from a backpack at his feet. "Orders say we start in the northeast and work our way down from there. Prioritize officers and technicians, elminate any enemy forces found. Standard ops."

John lifted the cigarette to his lips and flicked his lighter's sparker. "Let's get a move on then," he said, exhaling a stream of smoke.

A quick hike to the northeast revealed the extent of the damage. Of the few survivors, many would be missing limbs - or worse. John knelt down next to an unconscious officer with a four foot long shard of metal through his leg and blood pooling on the ground around him. He clicked a vial of local anesthetic into his injector a set it against the man's leg. About to depress the plunger, he felt a weak hand on his shoulder. "Who... who are you?"

"I'm a doctor. Relax, this will be over soon." John pressed down and with a quick hiss the drug entered the man's thigh muscle.

"Please... what happened? Where is... everyone else?" The man was now struggling to stand up - the anesthetic acted quickly.

"I need you to stay still. Calm down, or you'll lose blood more quickly." John reached down for a fresh lancet. The sun flashed off the blade as he brought it to the man's leg and began a series of small, precise cuts around the shaft of metal. "All I can tell is you the little I know. Rumor is Command recieved some bad intelligence and underestimated the amount of Dusters in this sector. Didn't know they'd have so much firepower either."

"How many dead?"

"No official numbers yet. I think we may be leaving more behind than we're taking back."

Tears began to well in the man's eyes. John would have liked to have thought it was from the shaft of steel through his leg, but he knew better. He had seen enough broken men on the field to know one when he saw it. He realized then just how young the officer really was.

"H-how, how could this happen? This isn't right. This isn't what I thought it would be." The man reached up to rub at his forehead, leaving a black streak of grime behind.

"What did you expect when you graduated that academy? Parades and medals? Now, hold on to something, this is going to hurt." John grasped the metal shard and began drawing it upwards and out of the officer's leg. The man screamed raggedly, tears now flowing openly onto his dirty cheeks.

"There, done." John tossed the bloody spear down and began packing gauze into the now open wound. He wrapped a clean bandage around the man's leg, then poured water into a plastic cup from his bag. "Drink this. You need to rehydrate. You should be able to make it until they evac you to a proper med center. Stay here, don't try to walk. Don't touch the wound, and try to stay calm."

"Wait, you can't just leave me here. Please... I need to see my family." The man's eyes were wide with fear and he was gasping for breath; he began to shift forward again. 

John placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I need to attend to others. You'll be safe here." John passed the man a small pill. "If the pain returns, take this." Looking up, he saw his escort motion to come over.

The soldier waved with his data pad. "Time's up. HQ says there's another group of Dusters inbound, and we don't want to be here when they arrive."

John frowned. "And what about all these injured?"

The soldier was quiet for a moment behind his helmet. "Evac is on its way. That's not your concern." He motioned towards a hill around 100 meters away where a much smaller VTOL was now landing, still hot from atmospheric re-entry. "There's our ticket out, come on, let's go."

John glanced back towards the man he had treated. "Fuck this," he said under his breath, then turned and walked towards the ship.

[i]15 Years Later[/i]

The steady pulse of a heart rate monitor provided a fitting backdrop for the tension in the operating room as surgeon Johnathan Raleigh completed his 64th heart transplant. "All right, let's close her up." The nurses and technicians around him spun into action as he stepped back and released a breath that felt like it had been held for hours. Even after five years as a field medic, then fifteen as a trauma surgeon at UW Medical Center, he still got an adrenaline rush from the pressure of another person's life in his hands.

He stepped into the adjoining prep room and peeled off his bloody gloves, tossing them into a biohazard receptacle built into the wall. Turning on the faucet, the feeling of warm water over his tired hands was exquisite. He couldn't avoid a glance in the mirror above the sink as he scrubbed. At 41 years old, he had more than just a dash of gray in his otherwise dark brown, almost black, hair. In his opinion, he had never been particularly handsome. Why try to match up to the sculpted perfection of those fortunate enough to have been engineered beautiful?  He did, however, prize the deep sea green eyes he had inherited from his mother. They were a reminder of her, and a source of motivation to aspire to the same high ideals she set for herself when she was alive.

He finished up changing into his standard jeans and black button-down and stepped out of the prep room into one of the many hallways of the medical center. He looked at his watch. 22:46. His shift had ended sixteen minutes ago, and he was on-call for the upcoming weekend. Maybe he would have a chance to relax a bit after all.

"Congratulations on another successful surgery, Doctor Raleigh. Or should I refer to you by your full title? What's it these days, again? Senior Trauma Surgeon? Well, they got the senior part right at least."

John turned to see a man about his age with a shock of blonde hair and a mischevious smile that he knew all too well. His broke into a smile of his own. "Hello Will. Good to see you looking so clean, I would have thought you'd be covered in puke from the neonatal unit."

Will grimaced. "My god, if I have to spend another day pulling those little bastards out I swear I'm going to resign and go into law like my father always told me to."

John laughed, "I'm sure you'll make it through - we all have to pay our dues every once in a while."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, you off as well? Want to hit up that new bar in downtown tonight? I hear one of the lab techs got a second job there and really knows her way around a pipette, if you catch my drift." Will smirked and began walking towards the exit, gesturing for John to follow.

John walked after him. "Really? A pipette? That's pretty awful, even for you. Anyway, even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I'm on call for the weekend, so no joy." 
 
Will frowned. "On call? Again? You work too much man, time to take a freaking break."

John laughed again. "That's just how it is."

They stepped out into the brisk night air, the lights of Seattle shining like jewels. John stopped and turned to Will.

"Well, hope you have fun tonight. Remember, I'm not bailing you out if you end up in the drunk tank."

"C'mon John, that's what friends are for. Well, whatever. Enjoy a weekend spent sitting in your apartment. I know whatever you're working on is apparently more important than a girlfriend, or really any social life whatsoever. But, if you decide you want to get some fresh air, give me a call." Will turned to leave, waving lazily as he headed out into the parking lot towards his low-altitude shuttle.

John shook his head and hailed a taxi. He let his mind wander as they flew through the massive superstructure that was the city. Out among the stars and planets. Out beyond Pluto. What was there? He had gotten to see such a small amount of it during his stint as a field medic, in the dust and despair of Mars, and everything he saw was the worst of what the galaxy had to offer. He knew there must be more, some greater meaning, and he wondered if he could find it out there among all those sparkling jewels.

He punched in the code to his apartment door and immediately flopped down on the couch. Reaching for a roll of paper towel, he tore one off and quickly brought it to his mouth as he coughed deeply. Pulling it away, he saw the usual flecks of blood. "Damn." He tossed it into a waste basket and lit a cigarette, staring up towards the ceiling. It was time for a change.[/hider]