Martin walks slowly, a series of supplies needed running through his mind. The walk is a short affair, leading into a sterile, small exam room. He presses a button on the exam table, a step retracting.

"Mind getting up there for me?" He calls as he washes his hands on the sink, retrieving gloves, putting them on, then reaching for a clean towel inside a drawer. Whatever that black gunk on the child's eyes is, it should be cleaned and examined.