Rebecca sat at her desk in the Raccoon Police Department’s modest medical office, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee—an odd blend, but comforting in its way. Papers were strewn across her workspace: medical journals, diagnostic case studies, and a dissection of pharmacological advancements she’d been poring over since the start of her shift. Her pen tapped against her notebook as she leaned forward, her brows furrowed in concentration.

The RPD wasn’t a place for idle hands, but Rebecca’s role as a medic often left her in the quieter corners of chaos. Most days were filled with minor injuries—officers spraining something on patrol, or the occasional broken nose after a bar scuffle. It wasn’t glamorous work, but she took it seriously. She’d always believed that being prepared for the worst meant mastering the ordinary first.

Today, though, was slow. A blessing, she supposed, though she felt restless. The station was eerily calm, the kind of quiet that made her stomach knot.

Maybe it’s just the coffee. She took another sip from her cup, grimacing as the lukewarm liquid hit her tongue. Setting it aside, she flipped the page of the case study in front of her, diving back into the complexities of bacterial resistance in wound care.