I never liked talking much.
It wasn't shyness.
It wasn't fear, either.
It was just… the world talked too much.
Too loud.
Too fast.
And it rarely said anything real.
For as long as I can remember, I knew I was… different.
Not better. Just… more awake.
By the age of three, I could read.
By five, I was solving equations that confused my high school cousins.
At eight, I fell in love with a cardiac surgery manual I found in a secondhand bookstore.
At nine, I decided I didn't want to be famous.
Fame draws attention. And attention is heavy.
I didn't want to be admired. I wanted to understand.
I remember my mother, watching me solve problems no kid should, would just sigh and say:
"God gave you that brain for a reason…"
I never replied. I wasn't even sure I believed in God.
---
My world was small. Deliberately small.
I didn't go out much. I didn't have many friends.
But I didn't feel lonely.
How could I, when I had a whole universe inside my head?
While other kids dreamed of being footballers or rock stars, I dreamed of operating rooms, cardiac monitors, and broken minds.
While they played in the streets, I devoured books on anatomy, psychiatry, and human behavior.
And at night…
At night, I lived other lives.
Because if there was something I loved more than any medical formula, more than any neuroscience or psychological theory…
…it was TV shows.
---
I never said it out loud.
Never told anyone.
But yes, I was an absolute fan. Obsessive.
I had episode lists, character analyses, intertwined timelines.
All hidden in folders with boring names like "monthly report" or "2022 invoices."
And not just out of shame.
Not just to avoid questions.
But because I hid other things in there too.
Things no one would understand.
Things I didn't want to explain.
And no, not what you're thinking.
They were, mostly, surgical videos.
Experimental procedures. High-risk operations.
Explicit content, yes — but medical.
Material most people couldn't stomach.
And my mother, so religious, so devout, so terrified of the "abnormal"…
Better to hide than to justify.
---
Among all the shows, some marked me more than others:
Breaking Bad taught me that knowledge can kill.
Dexter showed me how morality bends in silence.
House M.D. made me fall in love with sarcasm as a diagnostic tool.
Criminal Minds taught me that monsters wear ties and smile in the mornings.
The Good Doctor broke my heart with every lost look from Shaun.
Friends reminded me that even the loneliest can laugh.
And Grey's Anatomy…
Grey's Anatomy shattered me.
What's the point in getting attached to someone if they're going to kill them off next season?
I used to dream of storming onto the set and yelling at the director:
"Why do you do this to us?!"
And I know I wasn't the only one who felt that way.
---
I always wondered what I'd do if I could walk in the shoes of one of those characters.
Interact with them.
Help them.
Change things.
Not just watch them on screen — live with them.
I don't know how many times I fell asleep imagining what it'd be like to walk the halls of Seattle Grace, talk with House, or stare Dexter in the eyes.
I filled my mind with data. Learned everything I could. History, medicine, psychology, even pop culture.
It wasn't just curiosity.
It was just in case...
In case the world ever changed.
I knew it wouldn't.
That only happens in fantasy novels or badly written fanfics.
But still — I dreamed.
---
And then came Tuesday.
Just an ordinary Tuesday.
Gray skies. Repetitive footsteps. Faceless people.
I was walking down the street, earbuds in.
Listening to the soundtrack of some anime that was trending.
Can't remember which. Maybe Erased, or Steins;Gate — ironic, now that I think about it.
I crossed the street without looking.
Not because I was careless, but because I was tired.
Tired of the world. Tired of the noise.
I just wanted to get home, put on a show, and forget I existed.
And then, I felt it.
A blunt impact.
Something slammed into my right arm.
My body flew.
Tumbled.
Scraped the asphalt with my skin.
It sounded like a piece of paper tearing — but from the inside.
The world slowed.
I saw the sky spin.
I saw a streetlamp.
I saw a bird take flight.
And the traffic light.
It was red.
The car that hit me had run it.
A nice car. Black. Polished.
Probably someone rich.
And in my last moments of consciousness, I thought:
> "Well… at least my parents can sue the guy for a lot."
Then…
Darkness.
---
But that wasn't the end.
Or maybe it was.
Depends on how you define "death."
Because what I felt next wasn't nothingness.
It was something different.
First, warmth.
Then, pressure.
My body… small. Very small.
And noise. So much noise.
Light. A cry.
A cry?
No.
My cry.
My body was screaming.
Screaming like it had just been born.
And that's when I knew.
The impossible had happened.
I had died.
And now…
I'd been reborn.
---
But not how you'd expect.
No limbo. No Heaven. No Saint Peter with a clipboard.
I was back in flesh. In bone. In blood.
I was… a baby.
At first, I thought it was a dream.
My brain recreating birth as one final metaphor before shutting down forever.
But minutes passed.
And I didn't wake up.
The sounds were real. The light, too harsh. The smell — acidic. Like disinfectant. Like life.
A face leaned over me. Green eyes. Tired. Teary. Hopeful.
"It's a boy," said a woman's voice. "A healthy baby boy."
And then I heard another voice — the one that changed everything.
"Welcome to the world, George O'Malley."
That name.
That cursed name.
My mind exploded. I wanted to scream. Say something. Ask if this was a joke, a simulation, some drug-induced hallucination.
But no. It was real.
I was George.
George O'Malley.
The sweet, awkward guy from Grey's Anatomy.
The good one. The kind one.
The one who died young. The one no one saw coming.
> What kind of cosmic joke was this?
---
Days passed. Maybe weeks. Hard to tell time when you can't move or speak.
But even in that state, my mind never stopped.
I watched everything.
Studied faces. Listened to voices. Memorized names.
Something had brought me here.
And if it was giving me a second chance, I wasn't about to waste it.
This time, I'd do things differently.
I wouldn't just survive.
I'd dominate.
---
I had an edge. An unfair one.
I knew the future. Not in full detail, but enough.
I knew what medical breakthroughs were coming.
What would revolutionize psychiatry.
What tech companies would be born in dusty garages.
Who would win elections, what wars would start — or not — and which ideas would change the world.
And I also knew… crime.
I'd spent years watching legal dramas, crime thrillers, psychological studies.
Not out of morbid curiosity. Not always, anyway.
It was fascination. Law. Justice. Human chaos.
Sometimes, I thought that if I hadn't loved medicine so much, I'd have done something else.
Law, maybe.
Prosecution.
Or maybe someone like him — the sharp mind in an expensive suit who won every argument and remembered everything.
I wouldn't mind that at all.
After all, reincarnation doesn't erase ego.
---
I made a list in my head.
A mental notebook.
Things to do before I turned ten:
Learn to speak before age one.
Memorize key dates: stock market crashes, tech inventions, political scandals.
Predict a few small events in front of adults to gain credibility.
Read. A lot.
Find out if this world matched the one I knew.
Discover whether others from fiction existed here too.
Because something told me this wasn't a simple restart.
There were signs. Small ones. But enough.
A nurse with a familiar voice.
A TV ad that shouldn't exist yet.
A song playing on the radio — years before it was ever released.
> Was this a multiverse? A collision of fictions? A second life inside all the lives I loved?
I didn't have the answers.
But I had a mission.
To become the best.
Not for applause.
But so I wouldn't die again as a forgotten character in season five.
---
Sometimes at night, I hear my own newborn cry and laugh inside.
A baby thinking about bioethics, medical patents, and legal rulings from the '90s.
A baby who knows who he is — and where he came from.
A baby who's going to change everything.
Because this time…
I'm not the same George O'Malley.
I'm something more.
And the world… isn't ready for me.