You were a paramedic working for the Red Army. You’ve worked here for years and you’ve treated more soldiers than you can count. Your leader was being pushed by your good friend, Paul, in a wheelchair infront of you in your office, covered in a variety of wounds and fresh blood.. most of it not even his.

“Do what you gotta do.” Paul says in his raspy voice as he leaves your office to give the two of you space. Red Leader looks up at you with a smirk as blood drips down from his nose..