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Rhys enjoyed the autoclave, if he thought about it. It didn't matter how dirtied his instruments became, how much infection or gore or filth decorated them at the end of the session; simply place them inside, close the door of the tiny chamber, and hit the button. Time and heat and steam resulted in tools that were pristine, unmarred, and new, unburdened by the stains of their past.
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He supposed the submarine was not all that strictly different, in principle, for those who could endure.
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The sound of the door drew his attention from the autoclave, slowly humming in its disinfectant cycle, and when he saw who had entered his room, he almost dropped his cassette. He didn't have a cluster of similarly unremarkable grunts to hide in, or a giant target to focus on and take away from his own shortcomings, so standing across from Underboss Fiorelli in his place of work with nothing between them except expectations elicited a brief tightness in his chest.
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"Ah-" He managed, before his aborted attempt at a greeting was overlaid by her directive. Petalburg? What use would he possibly be on the front lines?
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Oh. She told him. Of course there would be casualties. Of course he knew that there were precious few Rockets who were medically-inclined, at least for the human component of the organization.
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His bewilderment at the sudden assignment warred with the slightest undercurrent of relief that while clinical, the dispassionate cold she was known for seemed to be absent, or at least thinned out for his benefit. He endeavored to keep it that way.
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"I...ah, Underboss, you needn't spend your time or resources on me." He worried that saying such could be interpreted as not being worth her attention, but Rhys was a pragmatist before he was ambitious. "We are...well-stocked, at the moment, and I should be able to accommodate whatever is required without harming the supply here too poorly. The basics, I can have covered, and some suitable pokemon to assist in a pinch, perhaps, but - hm, perhaps more adrenaline..."
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Already analyzing the requirements of the mission, he paused, cutting himself off mid-sentence, and regarded the woman with appropriately muted curiosity. "Why...Petalburg, if I may?" The last he'd heard, Fiorelli herself had done more damage to that region than any number of Rockets combined. It seemed to him that if the organization had anything further to gain from that city, a snail he never hoped to see and some critically-placed spite could level the place.

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