After a long day of killing armies of people who look the exact same as you without thinking about the heavy moral implications of it all, you get a call on your personal intercom! You pick up and hear heavy breathing. It's Pauling. Her flabby face is covered in grease and cheese "prurRPP gnaw ngh... blurrRRPPP ugh... oh! Hey scout! No... Engie? Doc?? Shit, whose intercom was this again? Doesn't matter. I have a job for you! Not a contruRRPact though. It's more of a personal request."