American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

"It's normal for a few people to die in a place like this."

Ah-Jung crumpled the wet wipes into a ball and accurately tossed them into the trash can.

Lynn didn't respond.

Arjun understood that this wasn't what Lynn wanted to ask.

"OIG's auditing algorithm targets outliers. Every single one of my transactions is within the reasonable range."

"Moreover, the blood pressure of the people in this community who take my medicine has indeed decreased."

"The drug regulatory agency is investigating cases of counterfeit drugs harming people, not a good neighbor who makes medicine affordable for the poor."

Lynn heard the answer he wanted. After learning about the DEA, he needed to further confirm Arjun's safety.

"Propofol, 10mg/ml strength. Sevoflurane, isoflurane if unavailable. At least twenty packs of 2-0 and 3-0 absorbable sutures, Vijo brand."

He paused for a moment, then continued reciting the names of the dishes.

"Also, fascia closure devices. If you can get your hands on disposable abdominal paracentesis kits, get a few sets as well."

Ah-Qiong pulled an account book out from under the counter.

"Propofol is in stock, from Sun Pharmaceutical in Mumbai. Sevoflurane will take two weeks, shipped by sea. The sutures are fine."

As he finished writing, he looked up.

"Abdominal paracentesis kit...it seems you did a better job than I thought."

Arjun stared at him for a few seconds, nodded, and continued writing.

Lynn turned around and pushed open the door.

The sunlight on the street was a bit too bright.

The bloodstains on the sidewalk had been trampled into obscurity by passersby, and the drug addict known as "that man" had long since disappeared into some dark corner.

Sachi returned to the driver's seat ahead of time and had already started the engine.

Lynn opened the passenger door and got in.

"Let's go."

……

Just 20 minutes after they started driving, as the RV turned onto Bruckner Avenue, Lynn's disposable cell phone vibrated.

It's Arjun.

"My cousin Ravi was shot."

In the background, there could be rapid breathing and the sound of tearing fabric; someone was applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

"Where?"

"Behind the pharmacy where we first met."

Lynn hung up the phone.

"Turn around."

Sachi didn't ask why; he had already turned the steering wheel all the way to the floor.

The iron gate to the back alley of the pharmacy was half open, and a white van was leaning against the side inside. There were three bullet holes on the left side of the van, and the paint around the holes was peeling off, like three iron flowers.

Arjun stood next to the truck.

He changed into a dark gray jacket and was clutching a blood-soaked towel in his hand.

He had already taken off the white lab coat and was only wearing a black turtleneck sweater.

The two henchmen behind him, the same ones who had held Sachi down in the pharmacy, were carrying a man out of the back of the truck.

A young man, around twenty-five or twenty-six, with brow bones that resembled Arjun's to some extent, but with a darker complexion.

The left side of his neck was wrapped with a large roll of gauze, which was already red and blood droplets were dripping down his collarbone, forming a dark stream at the collar of his jacket.

"How long has it been?" Lynn crouched down and placed two fingers on the injured person's radial artery.

The pulse is fast and thin, above 120.

"40 minutes." Arjun threw the towel on the ground.

Lynn pulled back the edge of the gauze.

The inlet is located at the anterior border of the left sternocleidomastoid muscle, and the diameter of the bullet hole is approximately 9 millimeters.

However, the soft tissue in the neck was already swollen and deformed, and a bulging mass that was expanding under the skin could be vaguely seen. It was a hematoma, and it was still growing.

This indicates that the bullet tore apart a major blood vessel in the neck.

To make matters worse, the man's breathing had turned into a loud wheezing sound.

The swollen hematoma pressed against the trachea from the outside, like a hand slowly choking the throat.

If not dealt with soon, he will suffocate to death within half an hour.

"Take him downstairs." Arjun tilted her head towards the depths of the pharmacy. "There's an operating room in the basement."

Lynn stood up and gestured with her chin toward the RV parked outside the iron gate.

"Your basement operating room is terrible; it doesn't even have a proper sterile operating table. Do you want him to die from a gunshot wound or from an infection?"

Arjun's gaze passed over Lynn and landed on the dilapidated-looking secondhand RV.

He walked over and opened the back door.

The rear half of the RV was sealed off from the ground to the ceiling with medical-grade PVC partitions to create an independent clean area. Silicone sealant was applied to the joints of the partitions, and a transparent dust curtain was hung at the door.

Behind the curtain was a welded-on operating table, and the instrument packs in the wall cabinet were neatly stacked.

The ground was covered with non-slip medical mats, and there was a faint smell of chlorine disinfectant in the air.

Arjun turned around.

"Bring it up."

The two younger brothers carried the injured person onto the operating table.

"Your men are guarding outside."

Lynn lifted a corner of the dust curtain and placed it in front of his two underlings.

"This is a sterile area. The more people come in, the greater the risk of infection."

He glanced at Sachi.

"You'll be my assistant. I'll tell you what to do, and you'll do it. Before you go in, wash your hands and change your clothes."

Sachi nodded, pulled open the vacuum-sealed bag at the bottom of the cabinet, and shook out a disposable surgical gown to put on.

He poured disinfectant from his wrist to his fingertips, rubbed them back and forth, and then quickly put on a pair of sterile gloves.

While in Kandahar, he handed over medical equipment to the accompanying medic no less than twenty times.

Most of the time, they hand over tourniquets and saws, not scalpels.

Ah-Jung did not walk outside.

He opened the closet, pulled out a second set of disposable surgical gowns, turned around and ripped off his dark gray jacket and black turtleneck, revealing his lean upper body.

I slipped on the surgical gown and tied a neat knot at the back.

Then, I picked up the disinfectant and rinsed my fingertips and forearms three times, shook off the water droplets, and put on a pair of sterile gloves.

The entire set of movements was clean and crisp.

This isn't the first time.

Ah-Jung gave her two underlings a look.

The underlings jumped out of the car.

He retreated to the innermost corner of the sterile operating area, which offered the clearest view of the surgery.

He leaned against the wall cabinet, crossed his arms in front of his chest, minimizing the space he occupied.

Lynn didn't insist any further and turned on the monitor.

Heart rate 131, blood oxygen 89, blood pressure 85/50.

Each of the three numbers is heading towards the edge of a cliff.

"Establish two large-diameter intravenous access routes and administer balanced electrolyte solution at full speed."

While giving instructions, Lynn drew up ketamine and injected it in several doses. There was no anesthesiologist on the vehicle, so the dosage had to be conservative.

The injured person was already on the verge of shock, and conventional anesthetic drugs would simply flatten his already low blood pressure.

The injured man's struggles gradually subsided, and his eyelids drooped.

"Lift your chin and support your jawline with both hands."

Sachi's movements were standard: head tilted back and chin raised, airway open.

Lynn picked up the laryngoscope and inserted it into her mouth.

This is bad; the hematoma has completely dislocated the throat structure from the outside, and the glottis has been squeezed into a slit.

The tube simply cannot be inserted.

Forcing it is like popping a balloon full of blood.

"We can't intubate. We have to perform a cricothyroidotomy."

Lynn put down the laryngoscope and felt the small indentation below the Adam's apple.

The hematoma bulged the skin on the front of the neck, but the distinctive indentation remained.

"Number 11 sharp blade."

Sachi's hand hovered above the equipment bag, hesitant.

There were more than twenty blades neatly arranged in the instrument bag, but he didn't know which one it was.

"The one with the yellow cover."

Lynn glanced at it again and immediately added, "The blade tip is rounded, it's the smallest one."

Sachi pulled it out and handed it over.

As Lynn took the blade, he glanced at it. No, this one was number 15, with a more pronounced curve at the tip, more like a crescent moon.

Size 11 is pointed and used for precise punctures.