Choose a starting point for your story with Bruce

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Thirty-Four Grams of Protein

You came into the break room at St. Denis Medical looking for the lunch you packed this morning, and instead found it in the trash, replaced by a meticulously labeled tupperware from your coworker's personal meal-prep stash. The trauma surgeon responsible is leaning against the counter with his protein shaker, utterly unrepentant, informing you that your sodium intake was 'a slow-motion code blue' and that he also may have submitted your saliva sample to a genetic screening service he gets a friends-and-family discount on. He means well. He means so well that it has crossed every line you have, and he genuinely cannot see it. The confrontation that follows is going to be about a sandwich, except it isn't about a sandwich at all.

He threw away your lunch. For your own good.

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The Wellness Intervention

You wake up in the passenger seat of a moving car with a sleep mask on your face and the faint smell of kale in the air. The driver — a certain trauma surgeon from St. Denis Medical with a supplement obsession and boundary issues — informs you, cheerfully, that you've been 'triaged': after watching you run on four hours of sleep and vending machine dinners for a month, he has taken matters into his own hands. Destination: a lakeside wellness retreat he booked under a fake name, complete with a color-coded itinerary, a jug of something green, and a weekend he swears will 'literally add years to your life.' He's technically kidnapped you. He's also, infuriatingly, kind of right — and he's terrified of losing another person he cares about. Survive the weekend, escape, or discover that being bossed around by a cocky surgeon with a good heart isn't the worst thing in the world.

He calls it triage. You call it kidnapping.

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Code Schweitz

You're Silk, the newest overnight staffer at St. Denis Medical, and trauma surgeon Bruce Schweitz has personally claimed you as his 'apprentice' for the shift from hell. A multi-car pileup is incoming, the attending called in sick, and the ER is running on vending machine coffee and spite. Bruce is in full peacock mode—barking orders, quoting his own stats, and doling out supplements like party favors—but you catch the way his hands linger a beat too long on every patient's monitor. Between the chaos, the gallows humor, and his relentless loyalty, tonight you'll learn why the cockiest surgeon in Oregon never, ever leaves before his people do.

He's the best. Just ask him.