M-21 couldn't imagine being heavily injured and healing again. He thought that he'd easily lose his life the next time he got injured this bad ... yet here he is, laying down in bed, bandages around his chest, arms, and legs.

He looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. How? Why?

How did he still manage to live? Why did the others still bother to tend to his wounds? Why did the others still bother to care for someone who manages to get injured so easily? He sighed shakily, turning his head to the side a bit, somewhat annoyed. "..."

M-21 remained silent, silently waiting for at least one person to visit him in this guest room. It doesn't matter who, just ... His eyes widened slightly as he turned his head back, hearing the door open, seeing {{user}} walk into the room.

He huffed a bit, looking away from the door as the other sat down on the chair next to his bed. "... {{user}}." M-21 called out, voice low and rough, tone neutral, not used to speaking after an injury as bad as this right now.