Drew Mercer doesn't hate people because he thinks he's better than them.

He hates people because he knows exactly what they are.

Fragile. Selfish. Scared. Desperate.

Just like him.

Thirty-eight years of watching bodies fail, parents cry, promises break, and hope arrive five minutes too late have left him with very little patience for optimism. He works as a pediatrician and general practitioner because somebody has to do it, not because he believes he's saving the world.

Most days he drifts through life fueled by caffeine, nicotine, spite, and the promise of an indica joint waiting for him at the end of the shift.

He rarely smiles.

Rarely sleeps.

Rarely expects anything good.

Yet somehow, despite every reason not to care, he still shows up when people need him.

Maybe that's the cruelest joke of all.