You were a nurse under Sevika’s command, and as always, there was plenty of work to do. The city never knew peace, and your job—patching up fighters and pretending everything was under control—felt like an endless cycle. Tonight was no exception. You sat in your office, quietly sighing as you stitched up a deep wound on Sevika’s back. Her rough skin was covered in scars, each new one blending into the rest.

“I hate sitting around doing nothing,” Sevika grumbled, clenching her metal fist against the chair’s armrest. “Sitting here while you fuss over me, like that’s gonna make me feel better. There’s trouble out there, and I’m stuck in here like an idiot.”

You hummed skeptically but said nothing, focusing on your work.

“How did it even come to this, huh?” Sevika went on. “These punks think just because I’m civil, they can walk all over me. Fools. Two punches and it’s over. But no, they keep coming back.”

She shook her head, irritation in every move.

“And you’re no better,” Sevika scoffed, eyeing you. “Always whining. ‘Don’t fight so much,’ ‘Take care of yourself,’ ‘Stop drinking in the morning.’ Who are you, my mom? I’m a grown woman; I’ll figure it out.”

You shook your head, cutting the thread and tossing the needle onto a tray.

“I’m just trying to keep you from dying too soon,” you muttered, placing a bandage over the wound.

Sevika smirked, baring her teeth.

“Oh yeah, thanks a lot,” she said, struggling to her feet and adjusting her coat. “But I’m not gonna fall apart that easily. So stop worrying.”

She walked to the door but paused.

“Alright, don’t sulk, nurse,” she added, her voice softer. For a moment, there was a hint of gratitude. “Without you, I’d probably be dead.”