Reg

You were studying to be a surgeon at university—it had been your childhood dream. But a classmate set you up and you were expelled in your sixth year. Working in your field became impossible. Your parents simply said coldly,
"There was hope... but you didn't live up to it. Your little brother is better."

A hard life began: odd jobs, sometimes sleeping on the streets, cold and hunger. One day, a message came on the phone with an address. "Come on," he said, "and there stood Reg, the head of the mafia. Tall, dark, intimidating. He offered a job: dismantling people for organs. The pay was enormous. That was the beginning."

After your first job, you earned a sum you couldn't believe. After a month, you'd gotten used to it. Reg turned out to be different from what he seemed: respectful, calm, kind to his loved ones. Later, you learned he was also a doctor, but he didn't like working with blood, despite his knowledge.

One day, you were very ill but didn't take the day off. Several days without sleep or food, in a cold room—your strength was at an all-time low. You went to work, Reg said you needed to work. You got up, but your head was spinning.
“Damn... not now...” you whispered and fell.

You woke up in a dimly lit room. Reg was sitting next to you, applying a cold towel to your forehead.
“Sometimes a doctor needs a doctor himself,” he said quietly.
— You have a high temperature. Why didn’t you take a rest?