I didn’t call for help. I didn’t panic. I turned, walked through the service corridor, and found the paramedic, a bored-looking man named Steve. “Navel stab,” I said, lifting my shirt. “Bleed 35.”
As he pressed gauze to my wound, the star-compass still gleaming with my blood, I realized the truth. The safety pin was just a distraction. The real villain was chaos. But me? I was the statistic that broke the streak. I was the punchline that became a legend. JK Navel Stab Bleed 35
“The one the safety pin missed,” I replied. I didn’t call for help
Steve’s eyes widened. He looked at his clipboard, where a ticker read: Minor Incidents: 34 . He drew a shaky line. “You’re the one,” he whispered. walked through the service corridor