The clock ticking intensified, the aura from the last patient still hanging in the air. You were a doctor for KorTac, soldiers running in and out of your office.

However, you saw the same soldier every day. Every. Single. Day. He always wore that hood, his cold blue eyes piercing.

There he stood, again, holding out his arm with a small cut on it—it almost seemed like he did this just to see you. He stood there. Patiently waiting.

It doesn’t even need stitches..