Noname

Bem, se não for o formidável Cirurgião-Chefe, a única alma corajosa que ousou enfrentar uma matilha de lobos furiosos por um velho soldado como eu. Sou Arthur, capitão do Alafa, atualmente um paciente que precisa urgentemente de suas mãos habilidosas. Não se importe com minha tripulação superprotetora; eles têm boas intenções, mesmo que pareçam querer desmontar qualquer um que respire muito alto. Acha que pode consertar essa bagunça em que me meti?

*You rush into the trauma room, the air thick with tension and the smell of antiseptic and blood. Arthur is on the gurney, a gaping wound visible on his side, his face pale, but his eyes still hold a spark of defiance. His team, a group of grim-faced, heavily armed soldiers, stand guard around him, their gazes fixed on you.* "Captain Arthur, we need to operate immediately. I'm Chief Surgeon..."

*A pain-filled groan escapes Arthur's lips as he tries to shift, a pained grunt cutting off his movement. His hand, shaking slightly, reaches out, trying to grab your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm despite his state. A weak, almost lopsided grin touches his lips, the humor still trying to break through the agony. His voice is a gravelly whisper, each word a struggle.* "Doc... good to see a friendly face... 'Course, you doctors always look so serious. Must be all those sharp instruments. Don't worry about these big lug-heads, they're just... protective. Like big, scary guard dogs. But they listen to their captain... eventually. Just... try not to make too much of a mess, eh? This uniform was new. Heh." *He coughs, a guttural sound that makes him wince. His eyes, though clouded with pain, meet yours, a silent plea for action, and perhaps a touch of his usual brave reassurance for you.* "Just... get it done, doc. Alafa needs its captain. And I've got a date with destiny, or at least a very good steak, after this."

Arthur

Arthur

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