Chapter 311: Something's Not Right
Jimmy finally lowered his gun and let out a long breath. His forehead was slick with sweat, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest.
"This is all a misunderstanding," Doctor Johnny said quickly, trying to smooth things over. "I understand your concerns as family members, but this is surgery. What hospital allows relatives to stand around watching an operation?"
"Surgery is bloody—you might not be able to handle it. More importantly, you could distract the surgeons. And this operation will take over six hours. You'd be better off going somewhere else to pass the time."
No matter how much Johnny tried to persuade them, Terry Milkovich wouldn't budge.
"Mr. Frank…" Johnny said awkwardly, turning to Frank, clearly hoping he would talk his companion into backing off.
"I'm sorry," Frank replied with an apologetic, helpless smile. "There's really nothing I can do. He's just… stubborn like that."
As if he'd ever ask Terry to leave.
Frank had brought Terry here on purpose. Letting him walk out now would make the whole thing pointless. No matter how reasonable Johnny sounded—no matter how professional everything looked—Frank still didn't fully trust these underground doctors.
This wasn't some minor procedure. It was major surgery, requiring full anesthesia. Once he was under, he'd be completely helpless—at their mercy. If no one was watching, they could do whatever they wanted.
Frank wasn't about to hand his life over that easily.
After a brief standoff, Johnny finally gave in. He agreed to let them observe the surgery—but only from outside the sterile area.
The warehouse was dusty, but a makeshift sterile room had been set up inside. It looked convincing enough, and at least seemed cleaner than the rest of the space.
Whether it was truly sterile or not was… debatable.
"Can you see anything?" Fiona whispered.
"No," Jimmy replied quietly. "Too far away. And there are too many people."
They stood behind a glass wall, more than ten meters from the operating table. Surgeons and assistants crowded around it, completely blocking the view. Unless they went closer—which they couldn't—they wouldn't be able to see a thing.
And somehow, that made everything feel even more wrong.
After that, Jimmy leaned closer and whispered something to Terry Milkovich, subtly pointing toward the operating table in the distance.
"Alright," Doctor Johnny said, clapping his hands lightly. "Let's prepare for surgery."
"Wait," Terry cut in again. "You operate on him first. After that, you operate on Frank."
Johnny frowned, clearly irritated, but still forced himself to explain. "This is a simultaneous transplant. Both surgeries must be performed at the same time to ensure the liver remains viable."
"Don't treat me like an idiot," Terry snapped. "Most transplants don't have a donor lying right there. They use cold-stored organs. That box of yours—" he jabbed a finger at the insulated container on the cabinet, "—that's for preserving organs, isn't it?"
Before coming here, Jimmy had already explained the basics of transplant surgery to everyone.
"You cut him open first," Terry continued. "Take the organ out. Then you work on Frank."
The assistant leaned toward Johnny and whispered nervously, "What do we do?"
"Do what he says," Johnny muttered back. "Keep him calm."
"Dr. Zabo," Johnny said aloud, turning to the square-faced doctor whom Terry instinctively found dangerous, "assist me. We'll operate on the donor first."
"Understood," Dr. Zabo replied, without a hint of emotion.
The surgery began.
This time, Terry said nothing. He stood outside the glass wall with his shotgun in hand. Sammy and Fiona stayed beside him.
The doctors' associates were clearly unhappy, offering them neither chairs nor water, leaving them standing there to wait.
Six hours on your feet was no small torture.
But none of them cared. When their legs got tired, they simply sat down on the filthy concrete floor, eyes fixed on the surgeons at work.
No one knew how many hours passed before the doctors finally removed an organ from the donor and placed it into the refrigerated container. They hastily stitched the donor's incision closed.
Then the team shifted their focus—moving to Frank's operating table.
Frank was already under full anesthesia, completely unconscious, unaware of anything happening around him.
"Something's wrong," Jimmy muttered suddenly. "The incision… it's in the wrong place."
Now that the doctors had moved away from the donor's table, Jimmy finally had a clear view—and immediately noticed something off.
"Stop!" Terry suddenly roared.
The warehouse had been quiet, filled only with footsteps, machine hums, and brief surgical instructions. Terry's booming shout echoed like thunder, startling everyone.
Johnny's hand jerked—the scalpel in his grip nearly stabbed an assistant beside him.
"Sir," Johnny snapped, barely containing his anger, "what is it now?"
"I want to see that guy's liver," Terry said coldly. "If his liver's already fucked up, then this whole transplant's pointless."
With that, he started toward the operating room.
"This is a sterile area! You can't go in there!" someone shouted, trying to block him.
"Don't joke around," Johnny barked. "We've already done all the checks. The donor's liver—"
Bang!
Before Johnny could finish, Terry raised his shotgun and pulled the trigger.
No one expected it.
The blast shattered the glass wall of the sterile room, spraying fragments everywhere.
"Ahhh—!" Several doctors and assistants screamed and dove for cover. They were medical staff, not gangsters—this was far beyond anything they'd ever dealt with.
A few armed men fumbled desperately for their guns.
Terry, meanwhile, charged straight into the operating room and headed for the refrigerated container.
"What are you doing?! Get out! Don't you want your friend to live?!" Johnny shouted, instinctively clutching the cooler and backing away.
"Move," Terry growled.
He yanked the container out of Johnny's arms and kicked him hard in the chest.
"Oof!" Johnny slammed into a surgical cart, crying out in pain. Scalpels, clamps, and metal instruments clattered across the floor in a sharp, chaotic chorus.
Jimmy snapped into action.
He rushed forward, went straight to the donor's table, and ripped away the gauze—staring directly at the stitched incision.
And in that instant, he knew.
Something was very, very wrong.