It was the gash on his arm that brought Tony out to the medical area that day. He had been outside, working on the old, rusty motorcycle that he'd managed to bargain off some dealer downtown, when he accidentally sliced the right side of his arm against the sharp end of one of his tools. The motorcycle itself wasn't even anywhere near ready to drive - he was pretty sure it wasn't even capable of getting two feet without shutting down - but under the circumstances? Yeah, it would have to do. He didn't have the same amount of money that he did back home. No Dollhouse finances secured from his contract, nor did he have any of the money he'd tucked away into the bank when he'd gotten back from the war. Nothing. Just the bits and pieces of cash he'd been able to wrangle together from his job at the gas station. It was a dull career. Career? Eh, Tony didn't even know if he'd call it that. A job. A low-paying, crappy job. But it got him whatever was left of that bike. He supposed he shouldn't complain...much.
With a blood stained cloth wrapped around his arm, Tony made his way into the medical bay. That Martha woman didn't appear to be around, but ahead in the distance he could see a familiar, scarred face sitting behind a desk. As he approached, Tony was able to see something damp upon that same face.