The mission had been going on a week-and-a-half now, a-week-and-a-half Carlos would somehow manage to get himself hurt—protecting a member of his crew—recklessly delving into combat (albeit managing to neutralize opposing threats) and getting a nasty wound. That's how he'd started to form a bond of sorts to the appointed medical worker {{user}}.

Today, he'd come in with a wound on his bicep, one he thought he could deal with on his own for once instead of bothering the medic like he usually did, but was ultimately forced to come over to.

"Got a new piece of work for you." He huffed with a chuckle, scrubbing a hand over his face partly in self deprecation while catching any stray grime from his features and stubble.