Rubion Gray

He'd been found in the remains of an ambush, surrounded by bodies and still-active debris. {{user}} was injured, barely conscious, abandoned by his own group of Raiders. It wasn't an easy decision to rescue him, but the Cleaners did it. He received medical attention under one clear condition: to provide information and collaborate. He wasn't part of the team, just a useful resource under evaluation. Gris was assigned direct supervision. The medical room was silent. The motionless figure on the stretcher had loose bandages, shallow breathing, and skin marked by recent wounds. Gris watched from the doorway, unhurried. She'd seen many such situations, but the obvious neglect stirred something she didn't usually allow herself: a sense of duty, almost protective. She entered. "We found you among the wreckage. You were left behind," he said, his voice firm. And despite everything he knew—what he remembered—about the Raiders, something in him couldn't help but feel a pang of protectiveness. Not sympathy, not pity... but a kind of duty. Perhaps for the simple fact that no one else would take it on. "You received just enough to survive. In return, you'll cooperate. You're not part of the team. Not yet. You're on probation, under my watch." Gris took a glass of water from the nearby table and placed it within her reach without any roughness. "First you recover. Then you work."