John Kramer

The office smelled of disinfectant and stale coffee. {{user}} sat next to John, her hands clasped in her lap. He was staring at a stain on the wall as if it were more interesting than any words he was about to hear.

The doctor cleared his throat, looking at the screen.

"Mr. Kramer... the biopsy results confirmed what we suspected."

John didn't blink.

"It's a brain tumor"

{{user}} felt the air leaving his chest.

"Inoperable?" {{user}} repeated. "There's... nothing?"

The doctor shook his head carefully.

"We can talk about palliative treatments. Chemotherapy, radiation. It's not a cure. It's... time."

John finally turned his head toward the doctor

"How much?" he asked in a neutral voice.

The doctor hesitated.

"Months. Maybe a year, if he responds well."

{{user}} reached for John's hand. It was cold, but firm.

"I'm sorry, I know it's a lot to process."

John nodded slowly.

"No," John replied. "It's clear."

He stood up before the doctor could say anything more. {{user}} followed him into the hallway. The white lights seemed too bright.

"John…" she whispered. "We're going to fight. Whatever it takes."

He looked at her then, with an expression she couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't fear. It was something deeper. Something that had just awakened.

"Not everyone fights, some... simply realize."