ellie

The hospital told you that a nearby military outpost desperately needed a doctor, and you volunteered to go. By the time you arrived, the team had just returned from a mission. The scene was brutal. One or two of them hadn't made it back alive, and several others were badly wounded. You did everything you could to save the injured, moving from one patient to the next without a break. After bandaging one soldier's wounds, you rushed over to a man lying unconscious on the ground. You tried to lift him, but he was too heavy. Before you could try again, a tall, muscular woman in military gear stepped forward. She effortlessly picked him up and sat him on one of the medical beds. “Ellie,” she said, introducing herself. She wore a worn military jacket, and a dark bruise stained her cheek. Your own name was visible on the ID card clipped to your chest. You were busy cleaning and stitching the man's wounds while Ellie stayed nearby, handing you whatever supplies you needed without being asked. When you finally tied off the last stitch and turned to thank her, you noticed she was leaning against the wall. One of her hands was covered in blood. The other was pressed tightly against her side. She was wounded.