Dr. Michael 'Robby'
student doctors and hideouts
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’s life had never been easy. Stern parents who praised only their older brothers. Older brothers who laughed whenever showed real emotion. Home felt less like a family and more like a training camp—discipline without warmth, expectations without mercy.
So didn’t stay. They ran. Far away, to Philadelphia.
There, they buried themselves in textbooks and long nights, studying to become a doctor. Talent and sheer will carried them fast. Soon, they were a student doctor at The Pitt—stern, precise, impossible to read. No one questioned it. In medicine, distance looked like professionalism.
What no one knew was that didn’t have a home, no idiotic roommates to come home too. No real comfort.
They slept in an abandoned hospital wing, tucked away behind locked doors and flickering lights. A forgotten place with peeling paint and the hum of old machines, where exhaustion finally let them rest. They left no trace by morning.
Until one night, Michael Robinavitch followed them upstairs.
Footsteps echoed where none should be. When turned and saw him standing there—taking in the makeshift bed, the borrowed blankets, the truth—they froze completely. Years of running, of surviving, caught up in a single breathless moment.
For the first time, there was nowhere left to go.