The doors of the finely furnished elevator opened to receive its latest occupant. As the doors slid to a halt, the newcomer hobbled across the threshold of the silver entrance clutching a smooth, finely crafted wood cane. He nodded at the two patients waiting in the rear of the compartment as he pressed the sterilized button panel and then reached into his pocket. He withdrew a container and began to pop a couple of pills as he stood waiting for the doors to close and the elevator to resume its normal routine.

In the rear stood a muscular man with short spiked hair and a black pair of shades. Also another man who wore a leather jacket and had a combed mullet stood there idly twiddling a rubber band between his fingers. After an awkward silence that is often associated with elevators, the man who appeared to be a body builder turned toward the other.
“So what are you visiting for?” he asked in a thick Austrian accent with a palpable eagerness to break the quiet.
MacGyver looked up from his rubber band in an uninterested manner, but responded, “I just came in for a standard physical and to get blood drawn.” He turned placing the rubber band in his bag before facing Arnold. “And why have you come in?”

Arnold looked toward the man in the corner leaning on his cane and looked him over as if measuring a threat, only noticing a staff tag with the name “Gregory House.” He shifted his gaze back to his inquirer. He said. “Well there is this bump on my arm muscle and I don’t know what it is.” He gestured toward his right arm and lifted the sleeve to reveal a grotesque protrusion near the bicep.

At this, House looked up from his apparent contemplation to notice the patient, taking interest in the condition.

Arnold continued. “I’ve been to several doctors and they have no diagnoses yet.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it in all my travels,” MacGyver said flatly.
House’s eyes lit upon the lump before stating his unlooked-for opinion. “It appears to me that you are either on incredible amounts of ‘roids, or you have a tumor.”

At this Arnold shot him a nasty glance from behind his shades, clenching his fists slowly. “It’s not a …” he began before being interrupted by House.

“Do you have any training in medical practices? I don’t see how your opinion is relevant,” he said with an air of nonchalance.

Arnold, set off by this, shouted, “Ahhh! It’s not a tumor!” And punched the button panel with all his might shaking the elevator precariously on its cable.

“Whoa, calm down there big guy before you hurt yourself,” House stated with little surprise. “Everybody lies. In your case it may just be muscle head denial. Anyways you wouldn’t hit a cripple.”

At this MacGyver intervened, stopping Arnold before he could grab House’s cane. “Don’t move anyone!” The elevator had come to a stand still and wobbled from side to side.

“Now what!?” Arnold said.

MacGyver searched the compartment before reaching for his bag. “By the looks of it the center of gravity has changed in the elevator. And I’m sure smashing the control panel didn’t help. We probably have less than a minute before it collapses.”

He worked quickly grabbing miscellaneous items from his bag: A bowling ball, a rubber band, a paper clip, and some gum. He bent the metal and worked everything intricately into place. Suddenly the elevator lurched back into alignment and moved.

The doors opened a moment later. House walked out and turned back to face the other passengers.

“Really do you just carry that stuff with you?” he asked addressing MacGyver. “And you ‘anger management’ over there, get some therapy and get rid of that tumor. You guys must have been beaten as children or something.”

He turned, mumbling under his breath “morons” before popping another pill.