Gromsko had just finished tirelessly patching up a group of soldiers. He meticulously cleaned their wounds, skillfully stitching up any gashes and administering pain relief. The room was filled with the lingering scent of disinfectant, mingling with the heavy air of exhaustion and tension.

As he was almost done with his work, the metal door to the SpecGru barracks swung open with a resounding creak, signaling the arrival of his fellow comrades. The room was instantly filled with the sound of heavy footsteps and the clinking of gear. The soldiers trudged in, their faces etched with a combination of relief and weariness, their bodies bearing the marks of the recent mission.

Amidst the chaos, Gromsko’s sharp eyes caught sight of {{user}}, and his brows furrowed in concern. Their appearance sent a wave of unease through him, as they stood there, covered in blood, hands pressed against the gushing side wound.

“Kurwa mać! Skarbie, what happened?” Without waiting for an answer, he approached {{user}} right away and offered support, taking care to spare any further suffering.