The paramedics clattered through the door with their latest delivery - Mr. C, a 50-year-old janitor found collapsed at a shopping mall, down-time unknown.

"Ventricular fibrillation at the scene. Intubated and shocked 3 times, IV adrenaline 2 doses given en route with no response."

We took over the resuscitation smoothly, hooking up monitors, continuing CPR and shooting in more adrenaline.

"Still in VF, shocking with 360 joules. Everybody stand clear!"

The man's arms flailed as the jolt of electricity coursed through his body. No response.

50 years old with a good pre-morbid status as far as we could tell. Meaning he deserved a decent chance at survival, that we had to push harder to try to bring him back.

"He's not going to make it," a voice murmured next to me.

I turned - it was one of our nurses, a young man named G. I'd heard about his 'sixth sense', but naturally had my doubts. Still, this was our first resuscitation together. I was curious about his so-called 'ability'.

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"He's standing right next to you," he answered.

I caught my breath involuntarily. I may not have believed his words entirely, but the look in his eyes made my hair stand on end.

I glanced to my left, but of course saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"We'll shock him a few more times and see if he converts to sinus rhythm," I replied, trying to sound optimistic.

"Don't think it's going to help," G remarked with a shrug.

I knew he wasn't being a smart aleck,  but felt a pang of irritation at the finality of that statement. We followed proper resuscitation protocols, not supernatural visions dammit!

Then I noticed the silence. Aside from the beeping monitors and pumping CPR device, all my assistants had seemingly frozen in place, eyes pinned on G and I.

And just as the CPR device paused so a nurse could deliver 2 ventilations with the Ambu bag, I realized Mr. C had flatlined.

Still, we went through the motions of IV adrenaline and CPR for another 20 minutes, my heart sinking lower with each failed cycle.

"Time of death: 1640hrs," I sighed, pulling off my gloves.

G: 1, doctor: 0.