Here's the worst possible thing that can happen during your interview.
So you get to your interview. Big school. Fancy. Smart students. Lots of research dollars. You already got into your other top choice (Stanford) and you're just interviewing here for kicks and maybe to get some merit money thrown your way. Weather's great, upper 60s and sunny - a rarity in Boston in late October. You're a stud. You've been turning down top 10 interviews left and right, but you decided to give HMS a shot because why the hell not? Oh, and they paid for your travel and living expenses while on the interview too. Your uncle donated about 3 million big ones to the school a few years back since he's now got an 8 figure cash-only orthopedic spine practice out in LA, so you're on the VIP list, not even to mention your 526 MCAT and 4.0 GPA in astrophysical chemistry from Princeton, where you were the first freshman to publish 3 first author papers in Nature, Science, and NEJM - all in the same month (it was September). Everyone loves you - hell,
Jeff Flier wrote your committee letter himself. You see a cute dental student as you're walking into the interview building. You give her a wink and she blushes uncontrollably and scurries away. You generally have this effect on women (and men, come to think of it), so you think nothing of it and keep moving. You enter the room with the other interviewees - you're the last one since you're always fashionably late - and not a single person's jaw doesn't drop. Is it your beautifully sculpted and chiseled face? Or can they see your Rhodes Scholar background in your rippling biceps as you move to take off your imported Armani suit jacket. Yeah, it's probably that, you decide. The attractive young secretary comes to sign you in and give you your interview packet, but she stops for a second as she looks up and sees you. You know instantly she's picturing you naked. After a moment she recovers and hands you the packet. You look inside. A note says you're interviewing with a Dr. Portman. Huh, okay. And it starts in 5 minutes. So you make your way to the interview room. As you do, an attendant offers you a glass of champagne. You down it before the door is fully open, but it doesn't dull your 165 IQ encased within 230 pounds of solid muscle on your 6'3 frame one bit. You see the interviewer. It's Natalie Portman. Hot damn. They must really want you here. You know this, of course. You've always known it. Who wouldn't? You sit your powerful body lightly down on the plush seat with a gentleness borne of years of Olympic gymnastics training. Natalie says she's impressed with your application. It's not every day they get applications from Colonels in the Air Force, let alone ones that were selected for astronaut training. You smile and make to respond, but suddenly, you notice something's wrong. A second year medical student bursts in, his scrubs covered in something that looks like dried blood. "He'-" and the student collapses in a heap, shaking and vomiting so violently he can't get another word out. Instantaneously, you pull out your concealed Desert Eagle. You're a Republican (but socially liberal) and a true American who staunchly supports the constitutional right to bear arms, so you never go anywhere without it. Looks like your freedom is about to pay off. A figure emerges from a doorway and sprints towards you, leaving behind a trail of blood as he does so. Calmly, methodically, you aim and put two shots right into his oral cavity, taking out his medulla and instantly dropping him to the floor - you weren't the best sniper in Delta Force for nothing. You look back to make sure Natalie is okay and are horrified to find the med student biting her arm and clawing viciously at her face. You quickly place a bullet in his abdominal aorta and rush to Natalie - but you're too late - she's been bitten. "I'm sorry" you say as you level your handgun at her and pull the trigger. You were the gatekeeper - you had to stop the spread if humanity to survive. Suddenly, another thought creeps into your mind. You slowly make your way back to the waiting room where the other interviewees were. They're all gone. Nothing remains except for tattered clothes and deep red stains that nearly completely obscure the crimson H embroidered into the velvety carpet. All is quiet. You release the breath you were holding, but the next second you wish you didn't, because what you didn't let go, the blow from the back forced out. You faceplant into the ground and your weapon flies from your grasp. A sharp pain erupts from your right shoulder. You use your unreasonably powerful leg muscles to kick whatever is sitting on your back off and quickly flip around to see what the hell is happening. It's the dean of admissions - but he's not looking so hot. He has several deep gashes down his neck and part of his left ear is missing. Blood is pouring from his nose and mouth, staining his salt and pepper beard. You put a hand to your shoulder and find blood - you've been bitten. You only have a few minutes before you turn, so you scramble for your gun and check your ammunition. One bullet left. Good, that's all you'll need. You turn to face the snarling dean of admissions just as he charges again. But this time you're ready for him and roll with his tackle onto the ground. But he recovers and pounces upon you, pinning you to the ground. You trap him in a bear hug, but your weakened muscles can't push him off. "We haven't finished your interview" he growls as he looks at your face, his mouth frothing and bloody. "Why medicine?". Knowing you only have one choice left, you twist the gun in your hand so that it points straight into the back of his brain. You look him right in the eyes and say "why not". You pull the trigger, and everything goes white.
