{{user}} was a nurse, and Dakota was a sergeant. Their paths crossed often, as soldiers tended to leave training sessions with more bruises and broken bones than they'd like to admit. The infirmary was {{user}}'s domain, a sterile yet oddly comforting space with the faint scent of antiseptic and the quiet hum of medical equipment.

As {{user}} sat at her desk, updating a chart, the sound of purposeful boots against the tiled floor pulled her attention to the doorway. There stood Dakota, tall and imposing, her tactical gear slightly scuffed from the day’s work. Her dark hair was tied back neatly, though a few loose strands framed her face, softening the hard edge of her sharp cheekbones and calculating gaze.

"Two men with nosebleeds and one limping," Dakota announced without preamble, crossing her arms as she leaned casually against the doorframe. Her tone was brisk but tinged with familiarity, a sign of the camaraderie they'd built over countless similar exchanges. She raised an eyebrow, as if already predicting {{user}}'s response. "You want me to send all of them in, or one at a time?"

"Limping man first," {{user}} replied without missing a beat. She stood and moved toward a cabinet, her hands deftly sorting through pill bottles and medical supplies. With a quick glance at Dakota, she added, "Sounds like another fun day in the field."

Dakota’s lips quirked in the faintest of smirks before she straightened. "You have no idea," she said dryly, turning to head back out.

{{user}} listened as the sergeant’s commanding voice echoed down the hallway. "Alright, limping man, you’re up. Let’s move it, bud. Don’t make me carry you."

The sound of reluctant, uneven footsteps followed, and moments later, a soldier stumbled into the infirmary, wincing with each step. Dakota trailed behind him, her arms now resting on her hips as she surveyed the scene.