After days of sailing the open waters, Tony's crew was exhausted. Their new ship, The Red Dragon, had proven itself a formidable vessel, but it needed some adjustments to make it truly theirs. The second fastest ship on the ocean was now in Tony's hands, but with power came responsibility—and sometimes, trouble. They had decided to dock at Driftport, a floating city known for its black-market dealings and medical expertise, to make repairs and gather supplies.
Driftport wasn't the kind of place you stayed long unless you had something to hide. The market was busy, crowded with traders, thieves, and pirates all seeking to make deals or avoid the authorities. Steve, Tony's best friend and a skilled swordsman, had already caused a scene earlier that day, picking a fight with some local thugs in the tavern. Though he had won, the brawl left him with a deep cut on his arm that needed immediate attention.
"We need a medic," Tony muttered as he inspected Steve's wound. They had bandaged it quickly, but it was clear the injury required more than just makeshift care. "Let's see if we can find someone in this place."
They made their way through the narrow, rusted corridors of Driftport until they reached a small clinic at the edge of the city. The sign above the door was faded, but it was clear that this place had seen its fair share of injured sailors. Inside, a woman stood behind a makeshift counter, mixing herbs and bandages.
She had long legs that carried her with a graceful authority, her golden hair tied back loosely, and her fair skin almost glowing under the dim lights. She wore a simple, practical outfit, but it did nothing to hide her figure—thick thighs that gave her an air of strength and resilience, though her face radiated kindness. Her eyes were sharp and perceptive as they landed on Tony and his crew.
"Need help?" she asked, her voice firm but with a hint of warmth.
Tony nodded and motioned toward Steve. "He got into a fight. We need someone who knows what they're doing."
The woman raised an eyebrow but didn't ask for details. "Come in. Sit him down over there," she directed, pointing to a cot in the corner.
As she worked, Steve grumbled, trying to downplay his injury. "It's nothing. I've had worse."
"I'm sure you have," the woman replied dryly, "but if you don't let me fix this, you'll be losing that arm soon."
Tony couldn't help but chuckle at her no-nonsense attitude. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Elena," she replied without looking up. "And you?"
"Tony."
She paused for a moment, eyes flickering to him, as if the name rang a bell. But then she returned her focus to Steve's wound. "This will take a few minutes. You might want to sit."
As Elena cleaned and stitched Steve's wound with practiced precision, Tony noticed how skillful she was. Every movement was careful, deliberate, and her touch gentle but firm. It was clear she had treated many injuries before, some likely much worse than this.
"You're good at this," Tony remarked.
"I've had practice," Elena said, her voice flat, though Tony could sense there was a story behind it.
When she finished, Steve's arm looked almost as good as new. "Try not to get into another fight for at least a week," Elena warned, standing up and wiping her hands.
"Thanks," Steve muttered, grudgingly impressed.
As they turned to leave, Tony hesitated. He had seen something in Elena—a sharpness in her eyes that suggested she was no ordinary medic. He also noticed the weariness in her posture, as if she'd been fighting battles of her own for a long time. He felt a pull to ask her something, but before he could, the door of the clinic slammed open.
A group of rough-looking men barged in, led by a large, scarred man with a sneer plastered on his face. "Elena," the leader growled, "you still owe us for the last shipment. We're here to collect."
Tony tensed, instinctively reaching for his weapon. Elena's face remained calm, though her hands clenched at her sides.
"I told you," she said coolly, "I don't have the money yet. Business has been slow."
The thug took a threatening step forward. "We don't care about your excuses. Either you pay up or we take it in blood."
Tony's crew exchanged glances. Steve, despite his freshly bandaged arm, stood up, ready for a fight.
Tony stepped forward. "I don't think she'll be paying you anything today."
The scarred man laughed. "And who are you? Another sailor trying to play hero?"
"I'm someone who doesn't like bullies," Tony said, his voice low and dangerous.
Before the thug could respond, Tony's fist collided with his jaw, sending the man stumbling backward. Chaos erupted. The gang charged, but Tony, Steve, and the crew were ready. Despite his injury, Steve swung his sword with deadly precision, taking down two of the thugs with ease. Tony moved like a storm, using quick, brutal strikes to incapacitate the others.
In a matter of moments, the fight was over, the gang either unconscious or fleeing in terror.
Elena stood there, her arms crossed, watching the aftermath. She gave Tony a small nod of approval. "Well, I guess that's one way to handle things."
Tony grinned, wiping the blood from his knuckles. "You get many visitors like that?"
"More than I'd like," Elena replied, her voice softer now. "This place isn't exactly safe."
Tony's gaze met hers. "Why stay, then? You're obviously better than this place."
Elena hesitated, as if weighing her options. She looked around the shabby clinic, then back at Tony. "Where would I go?"
Tony didn't miss the opportunity. "Come with us. We could use a medic on our ship, and you could use a fresh start."
For a moment, Elena said nothing. She looked at Steve, who was sitting on the cot, still rubbing his bandaged arm. "If he's going to keep getting into fights, you'll definitely need a medic."
Tony smiled. "So, what do you say?"
Elena took a deep breath, then nodded. "Alright. I'm in."
And with that, Elena, the skilled and striking medic with golden hair and a fierce spirit, became the newest member of Tony's crew.