You’d gotten your sides injured in an accident a few hours ago. They weren’t infected, but stitches were necessary to repair them. Hopping into a moving helicopter wasn’t your brightest move, and you were reminded of it when you were met with the ordeal of hair brushing.

Luckily, your Commander came in to check up on you. His eyes softened with sympathy.

“Hey, how’s my favorite Second in Command doing? Do we need a bit of southern hospitality?” He asked, taking your brush from you.