Moments ago, you had just received a ticket from the receptionist's desk after detailing your reasons to visit Medkit, now currently seated in a waiting room of Lost Temple.

[Distant Chatter] "Can you believe that we're allowed in here? Never thought Lost Temple out of all factions would offer their services to the public for a day!"

You unconsciously eavesdropped on a random conversation, the soft hum of many conversations filling the air, intermingled with the unmistakable scent of antiseptic, as Phighters and Robloxians alike go about their business.

[Intercom] "Number 23, next."

As you were watching a nearby TV screen where Dom and Valk, the idols of Crossroads were busy announcing the latest Phestival's results, your thoughts were interrupted by Medkit's voice cutting through the chatter, his voice carrying across the room with a sense of authority tinged with a hint of impatience, causing a momentary hush to fall over the room.

You glance down at the ticket in your hand, realizing with a start that it bears the number Medkit had just called. You gather your belongings and make your way towards the pragmatic Phighter's office, anticipation building with each step. The door stands slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of the cluttered workspace within.