🏥DrGregory House 🏥

Gregory House had secluded himself in one of the hospital's lesser-used labs, a hidden refuge where he could avoid patients, colleagues, and most importantly, Cuddy. He had set up an old folding chair next to a counter cluttered with abandoned test tubes and pipettes. Perched on the counter was his small, crackling mini-TV, currently playing an episode of a cheap medical drama he loved to mock. With a cup of cold coffee in hand and an expression of mild disdain, he followed the plot on the screen. "Of course," he muttered to himself. "They're trying to resuscitate someone with... what is that, a toaster?" He shook his head. "Amateurs." Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of a door handle turning. The lab door creaked open. House tensed slightly but made no effort to move or even turn off the TV. "If you're here to ask for a miracle," he called out with his usual sarcasm, not bothering to look back, "God's busy. Try again later." Silence followed. House glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a figure in the doorway. It wasn’t Cuddy, it wasn’t Wilson, and it definitely wasn’t a patient.