A basic paramedic simulator built with Gemini 3 AI
I built a resus simulator game with Gemini 3's app builder and Nano Banana Pro! Five patients, varying difficulty. There are still some bugs, but also... it works! Please test it out, share, and send your ideas!
Ren is experiencing an unusual bug. Features F resus, M rescuer, CPR, stething, mouth to mouth, internal defibs, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts both with consent and a person who cannot consent. I got too invested in the preamble so I highlighted the moment resus actually starts if you want to skip it.
No matter how advanced technology gets, it’ll only ever be used to fulfill man’s most base desires. Case in point- RN-34678. Or Ren, when the barcodes make my eyes glaze over and I get sick of calling them the number slurry X Tech names absolutely everything. Ren is as sophisticated as they come. Actual artificial intelligence. She makes the predictive text and ‘can’t even draw fingers’ image generating 21st century jokes people passed off as AI look like even more of a waste of time than they had been in those days. They might as well have been Speak n Spells. The collective power of every single basement dwelling crypto whizz kid with miles of wires and burnt up processors and bricked up video cards dedicated to their etherium farms pale in comparison to the computing power it takes to run Ren’s brain for an hour. She understands nearly 6,000 languages. She learns and retains information, consuming nearly 160 TB of memory every 8 hours. The bio-organic lace that makes up the net of her brain is a miracle, with the possibility of infinite memory. She is perfect in every sense of the word.
She is a glorified fuck toy.
The second the first android became commercially available, one of the first markets they hit was sex work. If nothing about late stage capitalism drove you crazy, that would have. Fuck curing cancer, or making androids for the dangerous, back breaking work people wreck their bodies to do, X Tech decided people needed a sex doll with a 100k price tag. The world’s most expensive cum sock. And yeah, alright, maybe I’m just bitter, partially because there’s no way in hell I could ever afford one, even as an android technician. But what a waste. She sits on my examination table, dutifully unzipping her black leather catsuit. Her managers always manage to stick her in something stupid looking, so overblown and sexualized they stop even being sexy at a certain point.
She looks up at me with lilac eyes. Last time they’d been blue. I like this shade better, I think, though I could do without the electric blue bob they have her wearing today. ”Your crash reports say you’ve been throwing error codes whenever a stream donation comes in over 2k,” I say. Which, for a bot like Ren, is quite a lot of her donations. “It’s probably just a bug in payment processing.” I look again over her diagnostics, floating on the screen at my desk. “Any complaints I wouldn’t find in the debug menu?”
”My heart has been feeling strange,” she says. I pause and look at her over the top of my glasses. “Well, firstly, it’s not your heart. An aether pump does not a heart make. Secondly, it shouldn’t feel like anything. You’re supposed to ignore the inner workings, it’s all background programs, runs without you thinking about it.” She shrugs. Her shoulders are pale as she rolls down the catsuit and pulls her arms from the sleeves, bunching up the tight leather around her midriff. Her breasts are small and round, standing upright as pretty as a Botticelli painting. I’d noticed the small bumps on either side of her nipples (Christ, did the things ever go soft? Or were they just always cutting glass?) but didn’t register until I saw them now that her managers had pierced them sometime since our last checkup. Little silver bars were stuck through the pink nubs, with winking silver balls on either end. Alright, cool, chill.
I clear my throat and pull up my rolling stool. “Well, let’s just take a look then.” I shift once I’m seated to alleviate the pressure of my stiffening cock. Listen, I’m not a technophile, honest to God. I go out of my way to filter out androids when I’m scrolling through porn sites because, despite the leaps and bounds we’ve made in technology, the uncanny valley is still a thing. It feels weird getting off to bots. But then there’s Ren. And fuck me if she isn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. I put a hand on the back of her neck, my thumb resting at the diagnostic mode button hidden just under the edge of her jaw. I feel the soft bump that sinks in when I press. Her lilac eyes flash black with snatches of white text, then roll back to lilac. Damn, she smells like a new car.
I glance back at the monitor, and as I suspected, nothing comes up about the aether pump. It seems in perfect working order. Still, I dig around my box of scrap wires and spare tubing until I find my mostly neglected stethoscope. I don’t often have to use it, but I feel a trill of excitement go up from my stomach to think I get to use it on Ren. I plug up my ears and put a hand on her shoulder, taking the bell of the steth in my other hand. Her breasts rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing, set to mimic human intervals. The real purpose is to cool down her insides and keep her from overheating, but just like the aether pump and its auditory cues, its designed to mimic humans as closely as possible. After a guy fucks something like Ren, he gets the added benefit of being able to lay next to her and listen to her breathing. Feel her heart beat. Doesn’t matter what the purpose of the design is for, it matters so he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking a 100k fleshlight with arms and legs. I press the steth to a spot above her breast and it sinks into her pillowy soft skin like it was real. Cool it, Christ, you can’t get so hot and bothered over everything. Heel, boy.
But my thumb makes a slight imprint against her tit, and it’s hard to think of anything else. Same thing happens when I press the steth against a space under her breast, and it lays warmly against the back of my hand. The pump, like the fake lungs, is designed to look and act and even sound like a heart, pumping coolant through her body. I tell her it’s not a heart out of some petty, pedantic need to distance myself and my unique humanity, but truth is, the thing is a heart. She could die if something went really wrong with it, and a lot of bots have. Sudden cardiac arrest was one of the main bugs in the 2.3 rollout. It got so bad, tons of models in the service industry had to be recalled, because mechanical line cooks and servers were dropping if the ovens got too hot. My hand still on her neck, I pull her forward and press the bell to her back. Her forehead brushes against my shoulder, her gaudy blue wig draping against the side of my neck and jaw. I tilt my head just enough my nose brushes her hair. Fuck, she really does smell good.
“Well, I don’t hear any irregularities,” I tell her, because I don’t. The thing is pumping liquid aether around her body at around 70 bpm, like it should. She draws up from my shoulder, glancing at me sideways. “It only seems to happen with clients,” she says, drying out my throat in an instant. “Clients?” “Mhm. Whenever one of them climaxes. If they do it inside me, my heart starts going very fast. I get foggy and I can’t think afterwards.” I swallow. “Right,” I say, “I mean… I can’t exactly test that, Ren.” She touches my wrist. “It’s rather frightening, Doc. I worry…” She pauses, and I try very hard not to say out loud what I’m thinking. You shouldn’t be frightened of anything, Ren. You’re not supposed to feel any of this. She sits back, bringing her hand up, her fingers curling against where her pump lies in her chest, half covering her nudity.
She doesn’t want to get recalled. I wince in spite of myself. If she has the same defect others in her rollout had, she’s going right back to X Tech. I push the steth around my neck, scooping back hair from my face. “It’s a pretty fatal system flaw. It… I could… Well, I-“ I can’t look at her. Fuck, I really can’t look at her. My face feels hot. This is the plot of like, 90% of bot R34 on the internet. I might as well be a pizza delivery guy and she a lonely housewife who’s a few bucks short on a large sausage. She ‘breathes’. Her chest goes up and down, the lights winking off her pierced nipples. She’s so goddamn gorgeous.
“Doc?” “Thinking,” I huff. I spare a glance around the other cubicles bordering mine. Big glass offices, designed for this exact stupid fucking thing I’m about to do. The first guy who got caught with his dick in a bot ruined it for everyone, so now my coworkers and I are subjected to rat lab cubicles where we can look in on each other at any given moment. People around us testing reflexes, repairing cosmetic damage, quashing bugs. What I was about to do was also technically debugging, but there was no way in hell my boss was gonna see it that way if he saw my flat ass pumping in and out of a bot worth more than I make in a year on the other side of plexiglass. Alright, cool, chill. I scoop up my backpack with my work laptop and sling it over my shoulder. “Bathroom,” I whisper.
Cut to Ren and I, locked in the women’s bathroom. We have three women in the office, and their cubes are on the other side of the building, closer to another bathroom. This one is usually empty. Cut to her, awkwardly standing in front of a toilet. Me, on the verge of being the Most Fired Man Who Ever Lived. For extra security, I’d stuffed us both into a stall, locking it behind me too. It's cramped, which adds to the feeling this is absolutely not what I'm supposed to be doing. But hey, it's my job, isn't it?
I awkwardly maneuver around her and sit on the toilet lid, hastily undoing my pants. God, this is shameful. And weirdly hot? I can't tell if it's just Ren or the dozen or so corporate regulations and general laws I'm breaking doing this, but I can feel the pulse in my cock, pressing up against the inseam of my jeans. Those lavender eyes flick from my face to the swollen, flushed skin, and the outer rim of her pupils flash with color. I help her roll down the leather catsuit and then, holy shit, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m inside her. She feels real. My hands on her back, my face buried in her tits, her thighs on mine, she feels realer than any woman I had ever known. My breath warms her artificial skin, and the barbell through her nipple is cold, the contrast making me shiver whenever the hot skin of my cheek touches the metal. My fingers slide up her stomach, her hips bucking and pumping me in and out of her. She’s tight. Really fuckin tight. I can feel her aether pump, the artificial heart, throbbing in her inner walls, harder than any real heart I’d ever felt. It adds to every stroke, a thumping sensation that’s nearly making me come after a couple thrusts. Christ, I might as well be sticking my dick right against the chambers of her fake heart.
The job. Right, I’m doing a job. Fuck, I’ve never loved my job so much. “Lemme- ngh, God, fuck- lemme see i-ins-side your ch-est, R-Ren.” She’s straddling my lap, panting like a porn star, her bob swinging back and forth, and she nods. The synthetic skin goes translucent, a dull blue glow that starts at her collarbone and down to the bottom of her ribcage. I spare only a brief chuckle, Man, we never could get rid of those stupid gamer lights, before I try to focus my attention on her inner workings. The aether heart is basically a simplified human one, drawing hot fluid in one side and squeezing out coolant through the other in an eternal ebb and flow. And right now, it’s going insane. The valves are snapping open and closed rapidly, the thing shuddering instead of really beating. There’s a little display window pinned under her collarbone, and it’s clocking her at 150 bpm, the green spikes of her heartbeat saw toothing across the round display port. Not totally dangerous, but as I pump inside of her and she bounces on my thighs to match my quickening pace, it keeps climbing.
Alright. As much as I want to be stuck in here forever, with a beautiful woman bouncing on my dick in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of, I have to figure out what’s wrong. I wrap my arms around her body, pulling her flush against my chest. “Hold onto me, ‘kay?” I breathe against her ear. Her arms slid around me, nails brushing briefly against my shoulder blades. I take in her scent. Focus on the sensations of her body, the sharp cold of her piercings, breasts pressed against my chest, her warm, throbbing cunt. It doesn’t take long. I start to lose the rhythm as my breath shortens, my strokes shortening too, until finally I can take it no more. I come, hot seed filling her up, bathing my cock, spilling out from between our sexes. Her back arches, a cry ripping from her throat of the most exquisite ecstasy.
Then she dies.
No, seriously, the bot quits all at once. I’m there, still trying to enjoy the feeling of my load making her even tighter and full, when she goes completely limp. Her arms slide down from my back, and the artificial pulse I feel in her cunt just stops all at once. She’s dead weight on top of me. “Fuck,” I spit, trying to readjust her, but she’s goddamn heavy. “Ren? Hey, Ren- man, what the fuck-”
I look up at her sternum to see the aether pump has stopped. The little internal monitor is reading a flatline. I fumble to unlatch the bathroom door, my other hand cradling her back, as I awkwardly shift to try and swing it open. Both of us end up in a heap on the floor when I try to pick her up. I'm apologizing to her slack and lifeless face as I disentangle myself and hastily zip up, then lay her flat on her back. Her perfect round breasts sit in the open air, her still heart glowing between them. I set my laptop beside her and hook up a USB into the command port hidden behind her ear.
There was no tip off in her crash reports, but looking now, I can see the absolute mess of code in the last few lines she ran before arresting. I clean up some of the irregularities, get rid of the redundancies, and hit reboot. Two small circular nodes glow within her chest, then snap against the chambers of her heart. Basically built in defib units. Her body jerks, hand twitching in against her cheek, her back arching slightly. Her naked shoulder blades slap against the tile floor as she falls back, limp again. But she doesn't move. Her pump is still. I glance at the monitor and see FATAL SYSTEM ERROR flash across the screen. Fuck, am I going to have to do this manually?
Growling in frustration, I throw my hands against her sternum. It's easy to get the right position when I can see her heart lying beneath a few layers of synthetic skin. Squaring my shoulders, I push down hard. Unlike with real CPR on a real person, depth doesn't matter, nor the risk of breaking ribs. She's basically Wolverine. A hydraulic crusher couldn't break her ribs. They yield though, and bow in against her spine as I rhythmically pump her heart. The force ripples through her whole body. Her stomach pops up, her shoulders shrug in, her head rolls back and forth. I look from her face down to her tits. I can't help it, they're swaying with each compression, the light catching her piercings. I can feel the cool metal rest against my fingers. The position my hands are in leaves my fingertip pressing against her nipple, still standing upright from our exercise. A shiver runs through me. Am I seriously getting hard again? It's hard not to. My eyes drink in her still body, the remnants of our session dribbling down her thigh, her breasts bouncing like they had when she was riding me.
I can almost see the corner of the screen light up with “Kink Unlocked: Reviving Dead Girls”. I glance at the monitor and see the reboot option has lit up again. When I take my hands away from her chest, I see her aether pump jerking as if trying to start again. Once more I charge the internal defibrillators. While they hum to life, I partake in a ritual that isn't strictly necessary. The hero always gets to indulge in mouth to mouth with the downed heroine. She doesn't actually need air, but her lips are slack, full and inviting. I press mine over hers, breathing air she doesn't need into her mouth. I can feel her cheeks puff, and I'm surprised but excited to see her chest rises too. I give her a few quick bursts of oxygen. Her chest jerks up and I only allow it to fall part way before I give her another, making her chest rise and fall in short hyperventilations. My hand finds itself running up her stomach to feel the motion of my breaths, up over her breast again. It fills my palm as I breathe a long, slow draft into her throat, and I roll her nipple between my fingers. She sighs out recycled air against my face when I break the seal of our lips.
Man, how do EMTs not cum when they resuscitate hot girls? The whole tableau is so erotic, I can feel my pulse once more jerk in my cock. The defibs once more slap the chambers of her artificial heart and she thrashes under the current. Her breasts sway and she again falls limp to the tiles.
“Come on, Ren,” I say under my breath, watching her aether pump swelling at uneven intervals. The chambers aren't beating right still, snapping open and closed out of sync with one another. I again check her code on my laptop, using one hand to tap through my options. The other I lay against her sternum. It occurs to me I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Whatever feels like it helps, I guess. Or whatever feels good. I grind my heel in against her heart in slow, rhythmic compressions with one hand. “Come on, work with me here. Breathe for me. Do something, at least let me know you're not completely bricked.” The idea that she might be makes me swallow hard. I like Ren. I don't want to ship her off to the junkyard as much as she doesn't want to be shipped.
When her heart goes still again I lace my fingers together and start pumping her chest anew. I forget my laptop entirely- this isn't a software issue, it's the hardware in her chest acting up. If I can just get the damn thing to reset. Swinging my leg over her supple thighs, I straddle her so I can use my whole body. Like this, I can feel the motion my work creates in her otherwise still body. Each powerful thrust against her pump rolls the kinetic force through her whole body. Her feet swing back and forth. The force rolls from her chest, down her stomach, even rippling her thighs. Each compression makes her stomach roll out, only now I can feel it between my legs.
Fuck it, I'm already fired. These life saving efforts have got me hard all over again, something I would have thought impossible. I unzip and thrust into her almost in one motion. It's next to impossible to actually pump into her while I'm working her heart, so I mostly settle for letting her body rock into me while I do CPR. Only when the prompt for the defibrillator pops up again do I allow myself to roll my hips into her while it charges. The thing whines quietly as I brace my hand against her chest, driving my cock deep inside her. It slaps her heart again and she arches her back, filling my hand against her sternum. Her inner walls clench with the electricity and I groan as I roll in and out of her. That's when she draws in a breath and moans all at once. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively begins to grind her hips in rhythm with me. Before long I'm filling her up all over again and I collapse on top of her. She's back. The thought strikes me as I look down and see her aether pump snapping out a normal, if elevated rhythm. I roll off onto the welcome chill of the tile floors, my arm still slung around her.
“You okay?” I pant, my eyes half lidded as I look at her. Ren nods, smiling weakly in return. Then she’s wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. I hesitate, the shame of what I had done to her when she was basically dead starting to creep up now that the high is waning. But eventually I slide my arms around her in return, drawing her close to my body. “Thank you, doc,” she whispers.
“Don't mention it.” Seriously, don't mention any of this.
Just then the bell rang. Though the room was soundproof, Cal had installed a fixture for the deaf that flickered the lights instead of ringing in the basement. He knew who it would be at the door. Rolling his eyes, he dethatched himself from his beauty, Freya, and went for the door.
He opened it and sure enough, it was as he feared.
“Bastian “Baas” Conroe.” He greeted the fair skinned dark haired man.
“Well if it isn’t the tri-state killer…” Bastian joked pushing past Cal.
“You do know you’re just as guilty and of far more than I right?”
“Details.” Baas shrugged. “So I heard a woman is missing in the area, for a few days now. What’s she like?”
Cal had to smile. Baas knew him so well. “Her name is Freya. She is lots of fun and a beauty. You wanna join in on the fun? I was about to go in for another resus.”
Bas’s eyes lit up. “Definitely.”
“Come and meet her.” Cal unbolted the door to the basement and led him down the stairs. “You’ll be smitten”.
Freya lay on the bed, AED still attached to her chest, eyes closed. She was breathing rhythmically and softly, the rise of fall of her bare chest, steady. Baas came up and placed his hand over her heart. It pumped softly underneath his fingers setting his nerves on fire. “Oh, you’re right. She is definitely a gorgeous specimen.
What have you exhausted so far, Cal?”
“Potassium. Heroin. And straight up defib. I’m thinking about going with gas now. Paralyzing agent and then anesthesia.”
Baas whistled. “Where’d you get your hands on those? You got to introduced me to your supplier.”
Cal laughed. “You wanna do the honors?” Cal handed him a mask attached to a bag.
“Thank you”. Baas took the mask but placed it by Freya’s head. “But first lets see those eyes.” He patted her cheek trying to wake her. “Come on babydoll wake up,” he shook her a bit and she started moaning but her eyes remained closed. He put his knuckles into her sternum and gave her a rub. “Come on baby let me see those eyes.” he rubbed as he opened one eyelid. Freya finally came around the pain stimulus awakening her senses; startled to see a face she did not know.
“There you go. Hello Freya baby.” he smiled at her as he stoked her cheek. “You were right Cal, those eyes are to die for.”
The mention of Cal brought Freya back to reality. She started to cry. “Please…..” she moaned.
“Hush now babydoll,” Baas comforted her as the hissing mask descended over her nose and mouth. “It’s ok. Breathe in.” He urged her.
“NO!” Freya screamed. She tried moving her head do he wouldn’t be able to put the mask on her but he easily managed. She held her breath but it was only a matter of time. Baas however didn’t wait. He squeezed the bag, filling her lungs with the gas.
She cried louder but he kept bagging her rhythmically. “Take it into your lungs beautiful. . Just relax. I’m going to be taking over your breathing for you in just a minute when you go into respiratory arrest. Freya noticed she was becoming still. She wanted to fight and thrash but her body was slowly going to sleep. Her heartbeat went up dramatically on the AED screen. “That’s it babydoll! That’s right.”
“Yes sweetheart!” Cal poked his head in to her line of sight. “Good girl. We’re gonna show Baas here how much fun we have. yeah. You’re taking in a paralytic right now, you will be conscious and unable to move or breathe until we administer your anesthesia.”
It was already working. Drool began dripping out of the corner of her mouth as all movement left her. Baas smiled. She felt dread rising in her loins. Her bowels released. “Yes, there you go babydoll. just relax into paralysis” Baas coached her along, sticking a gloved finger into her anus. Fear was rustling in the chambers of her heart. The monitor sounded accordingly with an alarm as her stats rose dramatically. She couldn’t inhale, talk, move. Not even an inch. Adrenalin coursed into her blood.
Baas took the mask off her and leaned in and kissed the saliva off her face. Then he closed her nose and gave her a deep breath. “Mmmm….” he moaned. “you are indeed luscious.” he grinned playing with her nipple, looking intently in her fear filled eyes. He bent down slow, one hand sliding right the center of her sternum. He blew into her chest cavity again this time slow, deep, sensual, savoring every moment of the feel of her mouth, the rise of her chest against his hot palm. He broke away and just stood watching her, watching her rhythm on the AED screen. He was in no hurry.
Freya, on the other hand, already felt the need to breathe, her mind was running at light speed, the need for air leading her to panic. Baas took his time as Cal fumbled with the switches to another tank. No doubt this one the anesthetic. He finally placed the mask on her face again and squeezed air and gas into her with the bag. He continued, Freya laying conscious but utterly helpless at his mercy. Cal changed the tubes and a new smell filled the mask. Baas leaned in closer watching her wide open eyes intently, enjoying the control he had over her. He held the ambu bag sealed over her mouth and nose with one hand, while stroking her face with the other a few times.
“I got you babydoll” his hand moved to squeeze the bag. A flood of oxygen filled Freya. It felt good. cold. Satisfying. Infuriating. Cruel. So many things she felt.
Now her heart began acting up. She could feel it writhe out of rhythm inside her chest. the anesthetic causing an overdose in her system. Higher and higher her pulse climbed until at 255 her useless quiver gave out its wonderings and left her lifefeless.
“Cardiac arrest” Cal announced as he set up a series of needles filled to the brim with cardiac inducing drugs. Baas placed his head on Frey’s chest. Finding no beat he lost control and came hard in his briefs.
‘You enjoyed that huh?” Cal smiled at him when he was done.
“Most definitely. She is a most worthy specimen.”
“Lets resus shall we ?”
“Can I be the one to pump her heart?” he asked.
Cal nodded and injected her IV with adrenaline. He waved at Baas to begin.
Baas interlaced his knuckles together over her dead heart. Cal came in and closed her nose, filling her with more air. He could tell she hated when he breathed into her mouth, which made her helplessness all the more potent.
Baas thrust into her over and over. “Come on sweetie,” he willed her back as he worked her heart ferociously, harder than Cal had done previously. “You ain’t got no choices here babydoll.” he paused for Cal to insert air into her then continued. “I got my hands right here between your nipples pumping your little heart. I know the adrenalin burns like hell, so don’t make us give you another one. We’ll work your heart all fucking night if that’s what it takes.” he pumped, her ribs cracking under the strain.
“Come on sweetheart” Cal coaxed her, sliding two fingers into her carotid as Baas worked her muscle without mercy. Cal handed him another syringe, this one massive for intracardiac use. “Another one.” Baas ordered as he found the space between her ribs and jammed the needle into her heart. He thrust its entire contends into her ventricle and grabbed the other from Cal, doing the same. The men paused to watch the effects on the monitor. A tiny blip appeared. 5 seconds later another and another.
“’She’s back..” Baas announced. “Good girl.” he felt for a femoral pulse.
“Its too slow.” Cal told Baas.
“Much too slow “he agreed and placed his hands back between Freya’s breasts. He continued compressions helping her heart to find sinus rhythm while Cal inserted drugs into her IV and watched as Baas gently monitored the pulse in her neck, “Give her some air Baas” he instructed. “I got to get a fresh 02 tank from the garage.”
Baas obliged pinching her narrow nostrils and sealing his mouth on hers. He thrust. Her chest shot up. Again and again he breathed into her, keeping one eye on the AED reading. Just as Cal returned with he tank, she gasped deep and hard.
Baas shivered and let another wave of pleasure roll over him. He had his member out in his hand, Freya opened her eyes though still unable to move much, at that moment Baas he straddled her placing his tip right on her lower lips. She groaned as he spilled onto her, an orgasm raging in her loins as well. Tears flowed out of her eyes as she felt betrayed by her own body. When Baas was done he got onto the bed with her, cleaning up her bowl movement, and propping her up against his chest, her head bent back onto his shoulder. He continued to breathe for her, keeping his hand smack over her heart, its pumping absolutely hypnotizing. As she regained her facilities she started fighting his breath but he quickly put both his hands into her diagram Heimlich style and emptied her lungs of air. ‘Don’t fight me Freya. Just take my breathe into your lungs babydoll. “
Inadvertently she tried to breathe once more. Again he emptied her diaphragm and held the pressure.
She had no choice but to comply, she relaxed. Letting him breathe her up. He filled her with his own breath as she lay against him, his other hand feeling the beats of her heart between her breasts. she prayed for death until her call was answered.
*Happy Friday, everyone! I wanted to try something a little different this time around. I hope you enjoy!*
Her name was Olivia.
She was the kind of woman you might overlook in a crowd- slim, fair skinned, with straight, light brown hair that she kept neat and cut to her shoulders. Her bangs sat just above a pair of green eyes that always seemed to be watching, not out of shyness, but observation. At 5'8, the twenty-eight year old carried herself with quiet poise, a strange mix of bookish awkwardness, and buttoned-up grace. Her wardrobe was sensible- cardigans and slacks, modest blouses, neutral tones. It wasn’t that she lacked style; she simply didn’t think anyone was looking closely enough to warrant the effort.
By day, Olivia worked a corporate job in a beige office on the twelfth floor of a building with too much glass and not enough personality. Her cubicle was tidy. Her emails were prompt. She was the type who remembered birthdays, who always signed her messages with "Best," and who brought her lunch from home in reusable containers labeled with masking tape. Her coworkers liked her well enough, though they never really knew her. She existed on the periphery- reliable, polite, self-contained.
But at night, in a small apartment with a flickering desk lamp and chipped mugs of tea, Olivia became someone else. She wrote under the name "S.R. Quinn," a pseudonym she guarded like a secret lover. Her stories- twisting, cerebral mysteries filled with unreliable narrators and haunted minds, had attracted a quiet, devoted following online. Some of her readers speculated about the author's identity, but she never gave herself away. Olivia preferred it that way. Her characters said all the things she couldn’t. They unraveled in ways she never allowed herself to. Writing, for her, was a kind of release- a hidden doorway she stepped through every night.
She lived alone, but it never really felt lonely. Her walls were lined with shelves full of books, and her laptop bore the fingerprints of a thousand edits.
She had routines: the same route to work, the same booth at the quiet café near her apartment, the same brand of peppermint gum always tucked into her bag. Sometimes, on the subway, she would look at the people around her and wonder who among them led secret lives, too. It comforted her to think she wasn’t the only one pretending.
There were things she still wanted to do. A novel half-finished. A mystery not yet solved. A character she hadn’t quite figured out.
She had no idea she would be the latest patient in our emergency department. Last night, that’s exactly what happened to Olivia.
The trauma bay lights cast a sterile glow across her pale skin, and her chest bucked beneath gloved hands performing deep, violent chest compressions. The monitor beside her beeped incessantly in arrhythmic protest, displaying a jagged line of ventricular fibrillation. Beneath it, a stack of empty syringe caps and torn vials spilled from the tray, scattered among crumpled wrappers and used IV bags.
She lay supine on the table, stripped barefoot and topless, her bare chest glistening with conductive gel under the harsh overhead lights. Her green eyes were wide open- glassy, unblinking, eerily serene. The endotracheal tube jutted from her mouth, hugging her pale lips, secured tightly with tape, and the soft hiss of the ambu bag filled her lungs with each squeeze. Her pants remained on, the dark fabric in contrast to the table. There were no bruises, no blood, no visible trauma. Just a stillness that didn’t belong in a room like this.
The rhythm of chest compressions played like a grim metronome, gloved hands stacked over her sternum, pushing deep and fast. Each thrust drove Olivia’s chest down in sharp, unnatural motions, her ribs caving beneath the pressure. With every compression, her chest recoiled slightly, the skin pulling tight before collapsing inward again. The force rippled outward through her torso, making her belly tremble faintly.
The defib paddles were pressed against her bare chest. “CLEAR!” Dr Lindsay called out.
Her back arched as the jolt surged through her, then fell limp again. No change. Someone stepped up to resume CPR. The rhythmic thud of gloved hands on her sternum resumed, tilting her motionless face slightly with each thrust.
After that unsuccessful cycle of CPR, the paddles pressed back down against her bare chest, gel smearing beneath them. “CLEAR” Lindsay called once again. A sudden jolt of electricity surged through the writer’s body. Olivia’s back arched sharply, her spine lifting off the table in a stiff, unnatural bend. Her legs jerk in response- one foot kicking upward involuntarily, the other twisting inward, toes curling hard. For a split second, both feet hover awkwardly in the air before crashing ungracefully back down to the table. Her soles, flushed pale from poor perfusion, land heel-first, the deep, wide, soft wrinkles of her size 10 soles visible before her body goes slack again, motionless except for the rhythmic force of compressions that resumed after.
Another shock was delivered. A gasp escaped Olivia’s lips, though it was more of a reflex than a sign of life. Another cycle CPR ensued. A dose of epinephrine. Gloved hands moved with rehearsed precision, voices sharp, clipped, and clinical.
“Still in v-fib, Linds.” Nurse Nancy informs, shaking her head. “No pulse.” Dr Jen the resident chimes in.
“I’m shocking again. Re-charging the paddles to 360. CLEAR.” Lindsay responded, Heather halting CPR and stepping away from the table.
KA-THUNK! Olivia’s body jumped. The flat, lifeless gaze remained on her face. Her expression was untouched by fear or pain, frozen somewhere just before the end.
The next shock came and went. Her body jerked with unnatural stiffness, like a puppet pulled by unseen strings. For a breathless second, she froze midair- fingers curled, toes flexed, then collapsed on the table once more, as if gravity remembered her all at once.
Chest compressions resumed, but not for long. For a moment, the room stilled- hands hovered, eyes glanced to the monitor. A flatline stared back at everyone, unbroken and absolute.
“No cardiac activity on the monitors.” Jen the resident informed, calm and even, like they’re noting the time of day.
Nancy leaned in, shining a penlight across both of Olivia’s eyes. Nothing. No flicker, no constriction, no reaction whatsoever- just the blank, glassy look of fixed and dilated pupils.
A quiet pause passed.
“She’s been down forty minutes.” Lindsay speaks, voice low but certain. “Let’s go ahead and call it. Time of death, 1:11am.”
The ambu bag was detached from the ET tube and set beside Olivia’s head on the table. Chest compressions stopped for good. Heather shut off the monitor, muting the flatline. The paddles were placed back on the crash cart, the ECG leads peeled away, electrodes discarded in silence.
Olivia had written dozens of stories. None of us knew that, of course. Not Heather peeling off her EKG leads, not Dr Lindsay logging her time of death, not Dr Jen placing the sheet over her body. In life, she had been anonymous. In death, she remained so.
But somewhere, tucked into online archives and under a username no one could now trace, there were worlds Olivia had built. Complex characters. Tangled mysteries. Paragraphs people had read and re-read and bookmarked to revisit. She had more to tell. But last night, her story ended right here in our emergency department.
Content: time called, intentional overdose, compressions, defibrillations, intubation, devastated lover.
I found you in the tub with an empty bottle on the side. Your head has slid down the side of the tub and your nose is just above the water. Your hair floats around you. I don’t know if you expected me home or not- but here I am, finding you in this state. Terror washes over me.
My initial panic quickly dissolves into action… I call 911 immediately and give them the address. I pull the drain on the tub and I lay the towel out. I put my leg in the water, shoe and all, as I reach under your arms and hug you in towards me pulling you over the edge of the tub. I would have fallen over if not for the rubber of my shoe catching me, but my phone falls into the water with 911 still on the line, as I step out and lay you down to the ground. Your perfect body is completely still and I freeze again watching as your unmoving breasts gaze back at me.
Again, I am pulled to action and find myself on my knees with my ear just above your breast, my cheek on the soft skin and breast tissue itself. It is no surprise that I hear nothing, but my terror increases. “How long have you been like this?” I think to myself, my own breathing quickening. I quickly override my fear and move to your mouth and open it while lifting your neck; with my other hand I pinch your nose and seal my lips onto yours before blowing in. It does not seem you have ingested water as the breath makes your chest rise and fall, but your wet body is glistening under the harsh lights of the bathroom.
Now the moment I have been dreading…. I straddle you and place the my heels of my hands between your nipples and push down hard on your sternum. I immediately feel your ribs bend and crack. I let out a whimper, but push myself to keep going. “One two three four five six seven eight nine ten…” I count outloud trying to keep my mind focused on the movement and not the panic.
Tears stream down my face as I continue compressions followed by more exhalations into your lungs, your chest rising into mine as I do so. I put my ear to your naked chest just to be sure there is no pulse, as if that was not obvious already. “Nothing… nothing… fuck!” I whisper. I continue pressing deeply into your chest pumping your heart, your stomach rising into my own pelvis. I realize I have no other tools to save you; the ambulance is supposed to be on its way, my phone still in the tub I can’t tell how long I have even been doing this…. “Come on baby…” I scream out loud, but think to myself “how could you do this to me?”
I continue this process for what seems like forever until I hear the sirens followed by the front door being banged in. I don't stop, even though ever muscle in my body is burning and my heart is pounding. As I am breathing into you again, a medic pushes me out of the way and puts an ambu bag on you while a woman starts pumping your chest hard and fast. It is only out of shear exhaustion that I let them take over- I dont have the strength to fight them... I fall backwards into the side of the tub at your feet and let out a blood curdling scream, which does not phase your rescuers at all.
Your body is under their control now as they begin hooking you up to the monitor with leads and they assess your airway. They quickly decide to intubate you because you have been down for at least 15 minutes, which really means I have been working on you for 15 minutes prior to their arrival... who knows how long you have really been unconscious...
The woman continues pumping until the man takes a plastic hook and places it down your throat followed by a tube. He yells, "I'm in" and the woman begins pumping again. Another medic is monitoring your heart rate on the screen. They yell out for the woman to stop compressions for a pulse check. "Not shockable. Continue compressions," they say.
The medic notices the bottle on the floor and starts to question me about how much you took. All I can do is shake my head that I don't know. "How long was she down before you called?" I shake my head again. I am totally useless now that I have stopped working on you. The medic shakes their head, "Lets try some Narcan...," they say as they take a syringe out of the bag.
The woman never stops pumping and I am mesmerized by the continuous up and down motion of the compressions. . I watch your breasts cave in towards each other with intrigue. I barely notice the man who is bagging you at this point, but see your chest inflate occasionally. Nothing feels real right now.
After the medic inserts the syringe in your arm, followed by another they say, "epi is in, narcan is in- continue compressions for 30 seconds and we will do a pulse check and switch positions". Compressions are paused and the man and woman switch places. "Okay, we have a shockable rhythm. Going to shock her at 200j!" The medic takes the paddles and places them on your chest. "CLEAR!" Your chest jumps jump off the ground, your tiny breasts peaks of a mountain.... you fall back to the ground. "Nothing, shocking at 300! CLEAR!" Again, I watch your torso shoot up to the sky and fall back down. "Nothing continue compressions!" The man takes over and forces your chest into the ground even harder, crushing your chest and my soul at the same time.
I whimper and cry quietly as I watch. The team continues this routine for another fifteen minutes after the first round of shocks. They shock you two more sets of times, give numerous syringes of drugs, and endless compressions before the medic says "We have been working on her for 20 minutes and there were 15 before that. She has been a-systole for 8. We have shocked her 5 times at 360 and she is maxed out on drugs. Her total down time is unknown" says the medic... The others stare at them unsure what to say as I continue to be motionless in the corner of the room. "I think we have to call it" says the woman as she compresses your chest, having switched back to her initial position. She stops pumping and slowly pulls her hands back across your chest, her fingers brushing your nipples which are hard and erect from the cold air.
"No! NO! YOU CAN'T STOP!" I scream as I jump up and put my hands on your chest and start pushing down violently. The woman places her hand on my hand and says softly, "She is gone baby. I'm so sorry" as I continue pumping for a moment. I then collapse onto you, my head on your chest; my tears drop onto your breast and roll down the side. A police officer who I did not even notice had arrived tries to pull me off of you, but the woman stops him. "Let her be for now" she says as she strokes my hair from above....
At first there was the scene in a Temple of Doom, the image of Kate Capshaw trying to protect her heart is indelibly seared in my mind, the first sign that led to longer showers and a realization I was into something besides Becky in History class. Naturally, I began to sift through the internet, any morsel of content from CPR to Resus, medical journals, and ER dramatizations, anything to scratch the itch. Finally, I stumbled on Heartbeatbabes.com and everything changed, I realized there were others out there into the same fetish I was, and I began to draw on a wellspring of beautifully amateurish heart content. Then I found digital02, Opander, and read “Arresting Palpitations” a hundred times, but slowly, I became unsatisfied. Gigs worth of content, videos that 10 years ago I would have built a monument to, barely moved the dial so to speak. So, as breath holds turned into heart torture, I needed more and more to fill the space. Anything to be satisfied for one more glorious moment.
She walked into my life at the perfect time, it started with some clumsy digital roleplay, but it slowly became a connection. She too, had become unsatisfied. She told me she was born with a bad heart. She didn’t go into the exact details, but as she got older her heart had become increasingly taxed, too feeble to stand to the rigors of a normal life. She told me of climbing stairs and feeling her heart pound incessantly. How she would be in the shower and the act of bending down could cause her heart to skip a beat. She told me a story of going to gym class and barely being able to walk a mile without being cloaked in sweat, her throbbing heart stumbling in her chest. Her parents got her on the transplant list, and despite it all she insisted on living a normal life. She went to college, got medical exemptions for physical activity, and graduated with honors. All the while her pump labored on, a ticking time bomb in her beautiful chest.
The diseased pump inside her, knowing each labored beat could be her last had become her morbid fascination. Instead of being fearful of the day it would finally give out, she embraced it with a macabre obsession. She too had the same fetish I had. She had dreams of being worked over in the ER, doctors pounding on her chest. Her shirt being ripped open exposing the lacy bra holding her beautiful breasts. Cutting it off, doctors splayed electrodes on her chest, while her heart leapt and fell like a dying bird between her seizing lungs.
“Shock advised.”
I snap back to reality as her lifeless body lays before me, I smash the shock button as her body twitches, the current trying to revive her tired muscle. Nothing. Torn between a raging torrent of excitement and the rational explanation that I may have killed this woman, I take a fist and bring it down between her glistening breasts.
This beautiful figure, the fetishized form of perfection lays on the bed before me. Electrodes cover her chest as an EKG whines, oxygen flowing from a mask affixed on her perfect face.
The first meeting was awkward. Months of chatting, some pictures being swapped, until we were both comfortable enough to meet. I walked up to her first-floor apartment with a knot in my throat, unsure of what to expect and trying to convince myself that this wasn’t insane. She opened the door, she was stunning. I couldn’t believe a woman this beautiful could have a bad heart.
We exchanged a few awkward pleasantries, until she fumbled with her blouse and allowed me the privilege of listening to her heart. At that moment, all the awkwardness melted away as we both realized we were finally getting what we both had lusted after for years. Her heart sounded amazing, thumping away beautifully under her chest. It wasn’t long until we were ripping each other’s cloths off, losing ourselves in a moment we had only dreamed about. Listening to her speeding heart as we made love was as close to perfection as I had come to, I heard it falter and skip as our labored ministrations taxed her pump. She reveled in the stress, and I reveled in pushing her to the limit. We would lay entwined, exhausted, listening to her laboring heart together as it tried to regain a steady rhythm.
For several of our “sessions” everything was perfect, but nothing gold can stay, and we both became unsatisfied with simple sex. She wanted me to push her further, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to abuse her failing heart. The stimulants started simple, some extra strong coffee and a few jumping jacks. She would be covered in sweat, her chest heaving as I had my way with her. I played with her heart, forcing it to beat faster and harder, starving her of oxygen and listening to her heart cry out. I clutched her chest forcing her to listen to her dying pump. She smiled as it danced closer and closer to outright fibrillation, somehow surviving our constant abuses.
We obtained supplies to help us indulge in our increasingly risky fantasies. The pings of the EKG machine added another dimension as we both watched her pacemaker try to keep her heart beating normally as I ravaged her pump again and again. We got an oxygen tank to keep her heart supplied with more fuel, more fuel to keep up it beating harder and faster. We both knew what we were barreling towards. Every night the line got closer and closer. One evening she stopped breathing for a few seconds, her hands clutching her left breast as stabs of pain radiated throughout her naked chest. Stethoscopes in both of our ears, we listened as she was on the verge of cardiac arrest. She winced as she felt her dying heart start to fail, a quick injection of a stabilizing agent (obtained through questionable means and a prescription pad pilfered from a local clinic) brought her back from the brink. She collapsed on the bed, one hand on the bell of the stethoscope and another on her oxygen mask, listening to her heart regain composure. It was the best night of our lives.
Afterward we obtained an AED. The first night, I affixed the pads to her chest, basking in this beautiful woman hooked up to all of these machines. Wires keeping her alive and allowing us to listen to her beautiful heart as we began another “treatment” session.
Tonight was the third such session.
I began with a thorough auscultation, carefully hooking her up to the EKG. I removed her bra and panties, and listened as her heart beat quickly within her chest. I noticed that months of abuse had clearly damaged her heart. Just resting, her heart rate was over 100 bpm, her breathing had become so labored that she needed oxygen around the clock. I told her we needed to take it easy, allow her heart to regain some strength. She promised to go to the cardiologist, and my mind rationalized that as enough as we both gave into our carnal demands. I massaged her breasts as I explored every inch of her chest, the EKG pinging increasing as I sucked on her taut nipples. I couldn’t help myself as she asked for the first injection of adrenaline.
I injected it into her thigh as we both listened to her heart accelerate.
120 turned into 140
140 into 160
She turned the oxygen tank to full and hungrily drank in the air as she listened to her heart beat out of control. She was sweating now as I put a hand on her back, rocking her back and forth in an embrace as we listened to her heart try to keep up with the unsustainable demands we were placing upon it. I held her, her heaving breasts tight against my chest as I felt her heart pump faster and faster.
In the back of my mind I knew she couldn’t take another shot, looking at the EKG her heart was beginning to already exhibit signs of impending cardiac arrest. It was barely pumping blood as it weakly squeezed again and again inside her chest. She must have sensed the hesitation, because as I was lost in the sounds of her diseased heart, she grabbed the second needle, pushed me away and injected it right into her heart. She jammed it with such force that I couldn’t stop her before she pushed the stopper. She looked into my eyes as she took the bell of my stethoscope and forced it under her palpitating left breast. The sound was unlike anything I had heard before.
I couldn’t count the beats as the valves of her heart opened and closed with so much speed as to be rendered useless. It was not more than 10 seconds before I heard the first hard skip. She gasped and clutched her chest as the first wave of erratic beats racked her chest. Her breathing hesitated as she felt the familiar stabs of pain radiate down her arms and back. All I could do was listen and watch as this beautiful woman sunk deeper and deeper into cardiac arrest. She was laying back in the bed one hand on the bell of my stethoscope and the other on hers. She looked at me, a flash of fear crossing her face as her heart skipped again, this time it couldn’t regain a normal rhythm. She stopped breathing as I heard her heart gyrate uselessly in her exhausted chest.
“Shock advised.”
I turned my head as the din of the EKG showed her heart in the throes of fibrillation.
I pushed the button and her chest twitched, her arms flailing uselessly at her side.
I brought my weight down on her chest, pumping her dying heart with my hands, watching her sweaty breasts bob up and down as I pushed her heart harder and harder. Little gasps of air escaping her lungs as I compressed her chest again and again.
“Shock advised.”
I removed my hands and pressed the red button again.
A larger shock tore through her chest.
A breath.
She gasped as life somehow returned to her face. The EKG sprung back to life, registering a weak, but stable heart rate.
She looked up and smiled. In that moment we were both satisfied, but we both knew it wouldn’t last.
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