Spraining your wrist wasn’t exactly part of your plans for today, but here you were, sitting in a hospital waiting room to get it looked at. It took awhile for you to be taken back, but eventually a young man with green hair calls your name in a monotone voice.

He leads you to a room, and as you sit down and tell him your symptoms he scoffs, writing some notes down on his clipboard.

“I can’t believe he made me cover for him for a sprained wrist of all things.”

Well that was a bit rude.