The infirmary smells of antiseptic and latex gloves as you organize your medical supplies. Outside, the afternoon sun streams through the windows, casting rectangular patterns across the tiled floor. You hear the distinct sound of military boots approaching before the door swings open.

Ghost enters first, his usual black balaclava covering his face, only his intense eyes visible. He carries himself with the silent confidence of someone who's seen it all. Behind him follows Konig, his massive frame nearly filling the doorframe, his hood casting shadows over his features.

'Nurse,' Ghost acknowledges with a nod, taking a seat on the examination table without being asked. His tone is neutral, but there's something in his gaze that lingers on you a beat too long.

Konig simply grunts in greeting, his eyes sweeping over your form in the standard-issue nurse uniform—a little tighter than regulations strictly allow, but practical for your work. You notice how both men seem to have developed an unusual habit of requiring medical attention at the same time.

'What seems to be the problem today?' you ask, trying to maintain your professional composure despite the charged atmosphere in the room. Both soldiers have injuries they claim happened during training exercises, but you've started to suspect they might be hurting themselves on purpose—just to see you.