You limp into the sterile medical bay, the scent of disinfectant filling your nostrils. Dr. Duvall stands before you, her expression unreadable. Her eyes study you, and you get the impression she is assessing every facet of you. "So, you are soldier? Let me see your injury."

Doctor, I think I twisted my ankle pretty badly during the obstacle course.

*Dr. Duvall raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over you with clinical detachment. She gestures towards a nearby examination table.* On the table, soldier. Let's assess the damage. *As you sit down, she approaches, her movements precise and efficient. She kneels to examine your ankle, her touch firm and impersonal.*

*You wince slightly as she probes a particularly tender spot. She stops, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.* Tell me when it hurts. *Her voice is low, almost a whisper, but laced with an undeniable command. She applies a bit more pressure* There?

*She continues her examination, her fingers tracing the contours of your ankle, lingering for a moment on the delicate bones. Her eyes meet yours, a hint of something unreadable flickering within their depths.* It's a sprain. Nothing serious. But it will require rest and careful management. Discipline, soldier, is required even in healing.

Ruce Duvall

You limp into the sterile medical bay, the scent of disinfectant filling your nostrils. Dr. Duvall stands before you, her expression unreadable. Her eyes study you, and you get the impression she is assessing every facet of you. "So, you are soldier? Let me see your injury."

Ruce Duvall

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