I stood there trying to figure out where the operating theatres even were. A nurse walked past and must have seen my confused expression because she stopped.

  "You looking for theatre?"

  "Yeah. Dr. Pierce said I'm observing a knee replacement."

  "Second floor. Change into scrubs in the prep room, they'll have them there. You'll watch from the viewing gallery. Don't touch anything sterile."

  "Right. Thanks."

  She was already gone, off to do actual work instead of babysitting clueless students.

  Then I found the theatre prep area after some wandering and one wrong turn that led me to a storage closet full of mops. Inside the prep room two other students were already changing in scrubs.

  I grabbed a set from the shelf. The pants were so long I had to roll them up twice and tie the drawstring as tight as it would go to keep them from falling down. The shirt hung on me like a tent. Put on the surgical cap, tucked all my hair up into it, then tied on the mask. Looked at myself in the mirror and looked completely ridiculous. Like a kid playing dress-up in adult clothes.

  One of the other students, a guy, fourth year based on the confidence with which he was moving—caught my expression and laughed. "First time?"

  "That obvious?"

  "You'll get used to it. Just don't touch your face, don't touch anything blue, and if you feel lightheaded sit down immediately before you faint."

  "Encouraging."

  He shrugged. "Theatre can be intense first time. The smell gets to people."

  He left. I followed the signs to Theatre 3, walking in these stupid too-big scrubs that swished with every step.

  The viewing gallery was this small room above the actual operating theatre with windows looking down onto the surgical field. Like a little classroom overlooking everything. Two rows of seats, maybe eight total. Four students were already there, scattered across both rows.

  Took a seat in the back row, trying not to draw attention. Below us the theatre team was setting up. Nurses laying out instrument trays. Anaesthesiologist preparing his equipment at the head of the bed. The patient got wheeled in on a trolley—elderly man, already sedated from pre-medication. They transferred him to the operating table, positioned his leg in this special holder, then started draping everything with blue sterile sheets except for the actual surgical site on his knee.

  Dr. Pierce entered from the scrub room, hands held up in front of him after washing. A nurse helped him into a sterile gown and then into gloves without him having to touch anything non-sterile. Another surgeon came in—younger, probably the registrar and got gowned up the same way.

  They started. Pierce made the incision first, long clean line down the front of the knee. Blood welled up immediately and he used the cautery to burn the bleeding vessels closed. The smell hit even up in the gallery. The student next to me made this small sound in the back of his throat and went really pale.

  The System activated and I nearly groaned out loud.

  I tried to focus on what was actually happening below instead of reading the System's narration. Pierce was deepening the incision now, cutting through layers. Skin, then subcutaneous fat, then fascia, then muscle. Each layer looked different, different colors and textures.

  They had the joint open now. I could see inside the knee from up here, see the damaged surfaces where cartilage should have been. Everything looked roughened and irregular. Pierce picked up a saw. Yeah, an actual saw, like something you'd use for construction and started cutting the damaged bone.

  The sound was high-pitched whine of metal cutting through bone, grinding and screeching. The student next to me stood up abruptly and left, walking fast toward the door. Another student in the front row had her eyes closed.

  Below, Pierce worked methodically. Cut the femur bone, then moved to the tibia. Used the saw to remove damaged sections, creating flat surfaces. Blood and bone dust everywhere. The nurses irrigated constantly, washing away debris.

  They test-fitted the artificial joint pieces. Pierce manipulated the knee, bending and straightening it, checking how the components moved together. Made some adjustment, tried again. Seemed satisfied.

  The cement smell was strong even through my mask. Pierce pressed the final metal and plastic pieces into place, holding them steady while the cement hardened. The whole process had this weird mix of delicacy and brute force. Gentle handling of tissues combined with literal sawing through bones.

  Ninety minutes total. Pierce closed the wound in layers, deep tissues first, then fascia, then skin. Placed a drainage tube to collect post-op bleeding. Dressed everything up. Done.

  The patient got wheeled out to recovery. Theatre team started cleaning up for the next case. We filed out of the gallery.

  Pierce was in the scrub room washing his hands when we passed. He didn't acknowledge any of us, just focused on scrubbing methodically between each finger, under the nails, up the forearms. Standard surgical protocol.

  Back in the prep room I changed out of the scrubs and back into my regular clothes. Two fourth-year students were talking by the lockers, loud enough that they clearly didn't care who heard.

  "Third years in theatre are completely pointless. They have no idea what they're looking at."

  "At least they're contained in the gallery now. Remember last year? One of them fainted right in the middle of an appendectomy. Hit the floor, nearly took out the instrument tray. Had to completely re-sterilize everything."

  They both laughed. "Blood everywhere. Patient field contaminated. Surgeon was furious."

  "Bet that student didn't come back to theatre for a while."

  They left, still laughing about someone's humiliation from a year ago like it was the funniest story they'd ever heard. The System chose that moment to chime in again.

  "Thanks for that analysis," I muttered under my breath. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

  The System went quiet.

  Made my way back to the Ortho ward around one PM. Priella and Dev were there near the nurses' station, both looking tired and irritated. Priella saw me first.

  "How was theatre?"

  "Watched from a gallery. Couldn't see much detail but saw a knee replacement. How was clinic?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Pierce's registrar made us stand in the corner literally the entire time. Didn't let us talk to patients, didn't let us examine anyone, didn't even really explain what he was doing. Just saw thirty patients in two hours and we stood there like furniture."

  Dev was scrolling through his phone. "Complete waste of time. This whole rotation is going to be hell."

  A nurse walked past, stopped, and looked at the three of us. "You students—bed linens need changing in rooms 8 through 12. Get to it."

  We all stared at her. Dev spoke first. "We're medical students, not nurses—"

  "And? Linens need changing. Everyone helps with ward work." She didn't wait for a response, just walked off to deal with something more important.

  Dev looked like he wanted to throw something. "We didn't go to medical school to change sheets."

  But we went and did it anyway because refusing orders from nursing staff when you're a third-year student was a good way to make your entire rotation miserable. They'd find ways to make your life hell in small, subtle ways that never quite crossed the line into formal complaints.

  Changing bed linens was harder than it looked. The patient in bed 8, elderly woman with hip replacement—had to shift her weight repeatedly while I struggled with the sheet beneath her, and every movement clearly hurt. She was polite about it but I felt terrible making her move so much.

  The old man in bed 9 actually laughed at me. Not mean exactly, but definitely amused. "First time doing this?"

  "That obvious?"

  "Son, I've been in hospitals on and off for forty years. I can spot a new student from across the room."

  Got the sheet eventually, moved to the next bed. By bed 12 I was sweating and my back hurt and any illusion I had about being a respected member of the medical team was thoroughly destroyed.

  For once the System and I were in complete agreement.