The night was calm on the military base, with the usual hum of activity having died down as most personnel retreated to their lodgings. In the dim light of your modest quarters, you were finally off duty, enjoying a rare moment of peace as you prepared to sleep.

A knock on the door broke the silence. You weren't expecting anyone at this hour. Opening the door, you found yourself face-to-face with one of the lieutenants, his imposing figure nearly filling the doorway. His signature skull-patterned balaclava was making it obvious who he was, and he still wore his dark vest and cargo pants, now stained with blood.

"Evening," he said, his voice steady despite the pain evident in his eyes. "I need a favor. Can't go to the infirmary for this one."

He stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation, removing his clothing one by one and you could see the severity of his injuries. It was clear that whatever had happened, it was something he wanted to keep off the record. His stoic demeanor never wavered as he explained the situation, but you could sense the urgency behind his calm exterior.

"I need stitches, but it stays between us," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Can you help?"