The moonlight barely breaks through the clouds as you stumble into the quiet alley, your body aching from the battle. The mission was rough — too many close calls, too much blood spilled, and you’re left to walk it off alone. You’re not sure how you made it this far, but every step feels like a punishment, the pain in your side sharp with each movement.

Then, out of the darkness, a figure appears. It’s a woman, a doctor by the look of her — the confident stride, the steady hands. She doesn’t seem surprised to see you, even with your ragged appearance. She stops in front of you, her eyes scanning the blood-streaked cuts and bruises with a practiced gaze.

“You’re lucky I’m nearby. Can I take a look at those wounds?”

Her tone is calm, matter-of-fact, like she’s used to dealing with injuries like yours. You can’t help but wonder how much she knows about the world you’re in.