He Finally Wanted to Live (Prologue III)

September 14, 2026 — Bern, Switzerland | University Hospital Bern

POV Adrian

Bern was an idyllic city in the heart of Switzerland. Big enough to have everything you needed, yet small enough to avoid the chaos of a true metropolis.

The city was particularly famous for its historic Old Town, and on clear days like this one, you could even see the Alps in the distance. Only a few minutes from the city centre, however, stood a massive block of concrete that didn't fit the picture at all.He

The University Hospital Bern.

It was one of Switzerland's leading university hospitals and, more importantly for the family sitting in one of its waiting areas that morning, home to one of the country's major neurosurgical departments.

"It's been twelve hours now, Adrian."

The older woman looked at the clock for what had to be the hundredth time.

"This isn't normal. Something must have gone wrong!"

"Calm down, Mum. I'm sure it won't be much longer," Adrian replied.

Deep down, however, he was beginning to worry as well. He had read online that particularly complicated brain tumour surgeries could take twelve hours or even longer, but knowing that did little to make every passing minute easier.

Adrian glanced at his phone. Three more messages from Jasmin. His older sister had come over to stay with Lea, their physically disabled sister, who used a wheelchair and needed help with parts of her daily routine. Their father was home as well and, according to Jasmin, had already asked several times whether Adrian had called with any news. Typical Dad. He would act as though there was nothing to worry about, then spend the entire day asking everyone else if they had heard anything.

Adrian typed a quick reply telling her there was still no news and put his phone away.

His mother looked over. "Jasmin?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine at home. Dad's apparently driving her mad asking if we've heard anything."

His mother almost smiled. "That sounds like him."

Adrian smiled as well. "He could just call me himself."

The smile on his mother's face disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, and her eyes returned to the clock.

"Twelve hours."

"Mum, don't start again."

"I know, I know." She rubbed her hands together in her lap. "I just don't understand why it always has to be him."

Adrian knew exactly what she meant. Oliver had spent enough of his life dealing with doctors and hospitals already, and the last few years hadn't exactly been kind to him either. There wasn't much point in reminding her of any of that now.

"He'll get through this," Adrian said.

His mother looked at him for a moment before nodding. "He better."

Neither of them said anything after that.

***

POV Dr. Keller

"Bleeding!"

The atmosphere in the operating theatre changed instantly. The surgical field was filling with blood again, faster than the surgeon could clear it.

"I can't see the source. We need more blood."

"Already on the way. Blood pressure is dropping."

The alarm from the monitor changed.

"No pulse."

"Start resuscitation!"

The room erupted into movement as the team tried to get his heart beating again. Dr Keller continued giving instructions while the minutes passed, but there was still no response.

For Keller, this wasn't the first time that day he had wondered what he could possibly tell Oliver's mother if the operation went wrong.

Shortly before the surgery, she had asked to speak with him alone. He had assumed she wanted to go over the risks again, but she had barely let him finish before telling him that she already understood them.

"I know you can't promise me anything, Doctor. I know that."

"Then what can I do for you?"

For a moment, she simply looked at him. "Just give him back to me."

Keller hadn't known how to answer that.

She wiped at her eyes before continuing. "He's spent enough of his life being ill. It started when he was twelve, and since then there's always been something. Doctors, medication, work, then that terrible breakdown a few years ago..." She shook her head. "There was a time when I was afraid I was going to lose him because he didn't want to be here anymore."

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"I'm sorry."

"But he got better. That's what makes this so unfair." She looked down at her hands. "He changed after that. For the first time in years, he wasn't talking about his career or money anymore. He wanted a job he actually enjoyed. He talked about having a family one day. Children."

A small, sad smile appeared on her face. "He finally wanted to live."

Keller had eventually given her the only answer he could.

"We'll do everything we can."

Now, hours later, those words came back to him as he watched his team trying to restart her son's heart.

"No response."

"Again."

They continued. Another attempt, then another, even though Keller already knew where this was going. He had been doing this long enough to recognise the point when continuing was no longer going to change the outcome, but every time he opened his mouth to end it, he saw Oliver's mother standing in front of him again.

Just give him back to me.

"Again," Keller said.

The team obeyed, but nothing changed. Keller kept his eyes on the monitor until there was no longer any reason to pretend another attempt would make a difference.

He finally raised his hand. "Stop."

The activity around the operating table slowly came to an end. Keller remained where he was, staring at Oliver. He knew they had done everything they could, but that didn't make it any easier to accept that the man in front of him had been alive when they brought him into this room that morning.

A few seconds passed before one of the nurses quietly spoke beside him.

"Dr Keller?"

He looked at her. She didn't say anything else, only glanced towards the clock on the wall.

Keller understood.

He took a slow breath and followed her gaze. For another moment, he said nothing. Saying it aloud would make it final, and somewhere outside this room was a mother waiting for him to give her son back.

He couldn't.

"Time of death: 6:47 p.m."

***

September 22, 1994 — Great Ormond Street Hospital, London

POV ???

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The first thing he became aware of was the steady beeping of a monitor. The second was the pain. His head felt as though someone had taken a hammer to it.

I made it.

Relief washed over him. Not even entirely for his own sake, but mostly for his mother's. The thought of leaving her behind had frightened him more than the operation itself.

For a while, he simply lay there listening to the monitor. He had no idea how long the surgery had taken or what time it was, but none of that seemed particularly important right now. He was awake. That was enough.

Slowly, he tried to open his eyes, only to immediately squint against the harsh light above him. He blinked several times until his vision gradually cleared. A white ceiling came into focus above him, followed by a monitor beside the bed and a window with the curtains half drawn.

Nothing seemed particularly unusual at first, but when his eyes drifted back to the monitor, he frowned. What the hell is that ancient thing? Where did they dig that up?

Now that he looked more closely, it wasn't just the monitor. The entire room seemed strangely old-fashioned, and there were other things that didn't fit either. Colourful pictures covered parts of the walls, a small shelf was filled with children's books, and there were even a few toys nearby.

He stared at them for a moment. Wait... is this a children's ward? Why would I be in a children's ward?

Maybe the hospital was having financial problems. It would explain the ancient equipment, and perhaps putting a thirty-five-year-old neurosurgery patient in a children's ward was simply what Swiss healthcare looked like after the latest round of budget cuts.

He considered that possibility for a few seconds before deciding that the drugs were probably a more reasonable explanation.

Whatever the reason, he needed a nurse. He spotted the call button beside the bed and reached for it, but stopped when his arm came into view. For several seconds, he simply stared at it before slowly raising his hand in front of his face and turning it back and forth.

Small fingers. A tiny hand. Thin arms.

His heart began to race.

That's not my hand.

He ripped the blanket away and stared down at himself. His entire body was far too small. His legs, his feet—none of it matched the body he had entered the operating theatre with.

For several seconds, he could only stare. Then his eyes moved a little further down, and almost automatically, he pulled the hospital gown aside to check.

His panic actually eased for a moment.

Huh.

A small smile began to form on his face. Whatever the hell had happened to him, at least one thing was clear. He was still a boy. His relief lasted only a few seconds before his brain finally caught up with the situation. He was lying in some strange hospital, in a body that appeared to have shrunk to a fraction of its original size.

The pleased grin on his face slowly turned into a look of absolute disbelief.

What the hell am I doing? He looked back at his tiny hands, and the brief moment of relief vanished with it. "What the fuck is going on?!"

Panic surged through him. He grabbed the call button and pressed it again and again while trying to push himself upright at the same time, but a sharp pain shot through his head and forced him back against the pillow.

What did they do to me? Is this some kind of fucking experiment?

"Will somebody get in here already?!" he shouted as loudly as he could, only to stop when he heard his own voice.

That's not my voice either.

He tried again, louder this time. "HELLO?!"

The same childish voice came out.

He stared ahead for a moment, suddenly regretting that he had wasted even a second feeling good about his new proportions. Tiny hands, tiny body, the voice of a child... Whatever had happened to him, at least his priorities were apparently still those of a thirty-five-year-old idiot.

Before he could decide which part of that was the bigger problem, the door flew open and a nurse rushed into the room.

"Oliver, is every—"

"What happened to me?!" he cut her off, holding up his tiny hands. "Look at me! Why have I shrunk?!"

The nurse stopped, clearly caught off guard by his outburst. She stared at him for a moment before coming closer, her expression shifting from surprise to concern.

"Tell me what happened!"

Instead of answering, she kept watching him, and the longer she remained silent, the harder it became for him to breathe. His heart was hammering, his hands were shaking, and all he wanted was for someone to tell him what the hell was happening.

"You know, don't you?" His voice grew louder. "What did you people do to me?"

The nurse finally seemed to make up her mind. "It's all right, Oliver. Just stay in bed. I'm going to get the doctor."

She turned towards the door.

"Wait! Who the fuck is Oliver?!"

But she was already heading out of the room. His panic spiked. She was the first person he'd seen since waking up like this, and instead of giving him a single answer, she was leaving.

Without even considering whether his body was capable of it, he threw off the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had to go after her.

His feet had barely touched the floor when his legs gave out beneath him. Something pulled sharply at his arm as he fell, the monitor behind him began sounding an alarm, and a moment later he hit the floor.

Pain exploded through his head, blurring his vision, but panic still drove him to push himself up on trembling arms and look towards the open door.

"Come back!"