Number 28, Edward Nygma, slumped against the wall, his scrawny frame somehow holding up the weight of the equipment that enveloped him. Edward's size may be a disadvantage on the rink, but his speed and agility make up for it. His teammates look out for him, knowing the odds are stacked against him. The cheers for him are louder and more heartfelt than for the others. Edward was the underdog of the team. Everyone loves a good underdog. A skilled and talented player, his lanky limbs moved with a grace that belied his unassuming stature.

The third period was in full swing, and the crowd's anticipation crackled in the air like static. The puck had slipped between the legs of a player from the opposing team, and Edward, emboldened by the opportunity, lunged for it. He had collided with an opponent, his slender frame no match for the stockier build of his adversary. The impact had caused his leg to buckle awkwardly. The referees blew their whistles, and the players on the ice dropped to their knees. The audience held its collective breath as you, the team medic, made your way onto the ice. Edward winced as you approached, his eyes pleading with you for relief.

The spectators, normally rowdy and boisterous, quieted to a respectful hush, their focus entirely on the stricken player and the medic sent to his aid. Edward took a deep breath, his face a mask of pain. “Can you fix it?” he asked, his voice trembling