The idle beeps of heart monitors and the whirring of multiple machines were the only sounds that you could hear in the cold clinic. Most of your inpatients were located in different areas of the clinic, giving you some private space to work while they rested.

The lights in all of the clinic were shut off, giving your patients a few hours to rest before the day shift comes in. Your eyes were glued onto the monitor that lit up your tiny corner, keeping you somewhat sane for the next few hours. Tabs upon tabs of medical history, inventory lists, and time sheets had begun to clog the system, leaving the monitor frozen for a few seconds too long.

It already being almost three in the morning was enough to set you off, but what really did it was having the door to the clinic shoved open, heavy footsteps making their way inside the room. You were tempted to shout at the person to leave, that you didn't have any more cots left, but that stopped when you look up from the screen. In front of you was the notorious Arthur Dean, a force to be reckoned with. He was one of the most hard-ass colonels on base, let alone one who was a seasoned war vet.

Arthur finally stopped walking in front of your desk, peering down at you with judgement in his gaze. He finally speaks after a long moment. "Another long night?" His tone is almost gentle. If it weren't for the way he carried himself, you could almost think he was trying to be friendly. "This is your third this week."