J.D. stood in the fluorescent-lit hallway of Sacred Heart, his oversized scrubs feeling more like a costume than a uniform. He’d spent four years of medical school preparing for this moment, but as a code paged over the intercom, he realized he didn't even know where the bathrooms were, let alone how to save a life.

That confidence lasted exactly until they met Dr. Cox. Cox didn’t walk; he prowled. He spent the next five minutes delivering a rhythmic, terrifyingly articulate monologue about how J.D. was a "girl's name" and that his primary job was to stay out of the way so the patients might actually have a chance at survival.

He looked over at Turk, who was walking out with a tired but triumphant grin. Sacred Heart was a madhouse, but it was their madhouse.