The atmosphere was tense, silence reigned high and mighty. The pressure trampled every single person in the room under its heavy boots.
The consistent yet urgent beeps of numerous machines furthered the intensity of the surroundings. Under a singular, bright light source aimed at a table, huddled various men and women dressed in emerald robes which seemed to be a uniform.
The surreal place seemed to be an operation theatre. A modern one, that is.
A single man led the surgery, frowning whilst he muttered to himself. His hand—slender, bloodied—held out. His lips said one thing and hand gestured for another.
The first nurse glanced briefly at his hand and followed the gesture, and handed him the tool he required more.
Something seemed to shift, actions taken or none at all converged. The scene blurred, perhaps the vision taken or repaired.
