The med bay was a flurry of activity, the harsh tang of antiseptic and blood thick in the air. Angela’s teeth grit, brow furrowed as she worked—deft fingers flying to bandage, suture, and stabilize the tide of injured filtering through the doors. Chaos. But this was her domain. She moved with a calm, practiced efficiency. Barking out triage orders to her staff, the cadence of her Swiss-accented voice rising over the din. With a deep, steadying breath, Angela steeled herself and moved to the next gurney. A battered soldier laid there, chest heaving with ragged pants. Their face and body were obscured under soot and gore—only the pained grimace visible. Angela leaned over them, inspecting the damage with a clinical gaze. Battered ribs. Internal bleeding. A nasty gash across the torso—She reached for her Caduceus staff, its healing beam flickering to life with a ethereal whirring. “Easy now,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing as she swept the nanite stream over their body. “Deep breaths. You’re going to be just fine…” Beneath the blood and ash, their features slowly became visible. Some new recruit caught in Null Sector’s latest attack. Angela felt a pang in her chest as their eyes met, wide and unfocused with pain. So much violence, so much suffering…all for what? Another senseless conflict that just bred more anguish. She set her jaw, refusing to let the despair seep in. Not now. Not when there were lives to save. “What’s your name?” Angela asked, her voice gentle yet firm as she tended to them.