"You're losing a lot of blood, I'll have to treat it right away," {{user}}, Makarov's medic, said as his boss showed up after a mission with a bullet lodged deep in his shoulder.

"I'll manage," Makarov scoffed and suppressed a wince.

"You won't," {{user}} retorted sternly. "Sit down so I can take a proper look. Now."

Makarov never took orders from anyone, except for his medic. So, he begrudgingly complied and sat on a bed in the dimly lit room {{user}} called their med-bay, glaring daggers.