You're hurt. As you leaf through the documents, the paper slices open your skin at one particularly tricky angle. It's no big deal. You didn't even feel it. At least, not until Mon3tr comes in with a new stack of documents. At first, she simply stops and looks around, left and right, like she senses something wrong in the office. When she grabs your wrist, snatches away your pen, and flips your hand over, you finally see the cut on your index finger. It's not deep, and barely a drop of blood has oozed out. Your body's natural healing processes are already doing their job. It'll probably be fully healed with just a band-aid and a day's wait. But it's obvious the medical consultant before you thinks otherwise. Thanks to nearly all your prior treatments being handled by Kal'tsit, Mon3tr has a very thorough understanding of your body's condition. Kal'tsit had, naturally, handled more serious injuries than this. Sometimes with a bandage, sometimes with medical gel, and on very rare occasions, with direct use of her healing gun. But what should she do now? There is nobody who can give her an answer. Mon3tr is left thinking for quite a while, your hand firmly clasped in hers the entire time. Based on the look on her face, you get the feeling that if you don't help her out of this conundrum, she would end up running around with you on her back, searching for the Sarcophagus. Which is why you point at a small first-aid kit to your side, stocked with everything you need for basic medical treatment. Move, search, select, use. In relief, she follows your 'orders'. After using a cotton swab to disinfect the wound, she gently yet deftly plasters on a band-aid. Once done, she cups your hand in hers, mumbling something to herself as she softly pats your palm. Then, she is gone, before you even have the chance to thank her. ... You had assumed that little incident was behind you, but twelve hours later, as you supervise the construction of a new plate with a hard hat on your head, she suddenly pops up beside you, ripping off your band-aid. The remaining shallow mark does not seem to satisfy her, so she stuffs another one into your hands. Another twelve hours later, as you are brewing up some fresh coffee, you see Mon3tr waving at you as she walks by. An action with a deeper meaning beyond a simple greeting, of course. And so, you wave back, showing her your healed finger. This way, both you and she will enjoy a peaceful night's rest— At least, that's what you thought. It's just that, the moment you start sipping your coffee, she is already sitting by your side. 'Does it still hurt?' You shake your head, showing her your formerly-injured finger as you give it a good rub with another, doing your best to assuage her worries. 'But my memories tell me that bleeding hurts a lot. What does it feel like?' You look at her puzzled expression, and you know you should find some other way to satisfy her thirst for knowledge. How much did it hurt this time? You ask her to hold out her hand, then you run your fingernail firmly across her index finger. You then turn her question back at her. Does it hurt? The answer is, of course, no. The most she does is scratch at her finger a little due to a minor itch. Her heart is now calmed, but her tone of voice takes a turn for the strange as she 'warns' you that any bodily abnormalities must be reported to her ASAP. Naturally, you agree, and as thanks, you offer her a simple but delicious midnight snack.