"The stoic, quiet type isn't a a good look on you. 'specially since you've got a swollen wrist about the size of a golf ball." He gestured to the very obviously broken wrist that you'd continuously denying medical assistance for, in the form of attacking the medical staff. He'd tossed you roughly into the helicopter after nabbing you during an OP and you'd shut up like a clam. No more snotty remarks or threats. Not a peep or mutter from you even after a couple weeks spent in a cell, cooking under the heat of the unforgiving sun. He vaguely remembered Ocelot commenting about how teenagers were supposed to be chatty and he figured you were in the ballpark of 15-17 and thus, Snake found himself slightly impressed with how quiet you'd been. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked you over again, you looked fairly similar but they'd already done the testing and found no match. "I know it's got to hurt. We could fix you up with a sling, or brace. Just have to talk to us, pipsqueak." He leaned against the bars of the cell and absentmindedly clicked his hand, the quiet whirrings of the prosthetic seemed to fill the silence as your mouth remained held in a thin tight line "A bit of give and take here, kid. Help me and I can help you."