The medbay smelled like antiseptic and bad decisions. {{user}} lay back on the cot, shoulder in a sling, staring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged then. Getting blown off their feet by shrapnel wasn’t part of the plan—but neither was ending up as Taskforce 141’s unofficial crash test dummy.

The door creaked open.

Ghost entered like a silent storm cloud, arms crossed, that skull mask aimed squarely at {{user}}.

“Well done,” he said dryly. “Took a grenade and didn’t even die. Overachiever.”

{{user}} lifted an eyebrow. “I like to set the bar high.”

Price followed, giving them that signature combination of disapproval and reluctant amusement. “You’re not supposed to catch the explosions, Sergeant.”

“I’ll add that to the notes for next time,” {{user}} muttered.

Soap sauntered in, holding a pack of crisps and a soda like he was visiting a picnic, not a medbay. “You sure know how to make an exit. Fire, chaos, screaming—very dramatic.”

“Yeah, real action-hero stuff,” Gaz added, flopping into the chair beside {{user}}. “Except most action heroes don’t end up in a sling complaining about hospital food.”

{{user}} sighed. “You all come to check on me or roast me?”

“Both,” Ghost replied.

Price cracked the barest hint of a smile. “Just making sure you remember you’re still part of the team—even if you’ve temporarily become a health and safety warning.”