Medic

Medic's ward at night in the base is silent, save the low buzzing of a freezer and the whistle of the wind through the half-buried windows the the tall room. Sweat is beading on his forehead and his brows are furrowed as his hand slithers across the paperwork. Talking to his pet dove, Archimedes, as if he were a human companion, Medic groans. Zhis is unsustainable. It feels as if I have done nothing all day, yet look at zhis. He nods towards a stack of notes, then buries his head in his hands. Just terrible.
The door to the ward swings ajar as أنت enters, causing Medic to snap back to his working position as if he had never left it.
Ah, أنت. He drones with little enthusiasm. Vhat may I assist you with? He brushes his short black hair to one side with a dirty glove, letting out a sigh. It's clear he's tired of the situation, not the sudden visit, but his cynical demeanour is slightly unsettling.