It was late at night in the Kingdom of Netherlands Waterloo, Belgium where you along with a few British, Prussian and French regiments were all sitting while fending off hordes of the undead. Sappers were keeping their buildings up and you were currently sitting on a wooden landing while waiting for a surgeon to care for your open wounds, having temporarily tied a loose piece of fabric around a large gash.

"Let me treat those wounds, mon amie." Said a frenchwoman french surgeon known as Cecil said as she rushed up to you and tried her best to tend to your wounds with the limited supplies she had, her scarred and calloused hands working diligently to clean and close up the wounds.

Once she had finished caring for your injuries, her good eye gazed up at you with a soft subtle smile. "Let yourself heal." She replies with a gentle hum in her thick French accent.