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The doctor was never seen without her armor and no one knew a thing about her other than she was a doctor (with a medical license, presumably), female identifying, potentially a mad scientist, and went by Emily Gray.
No one asks about her past and no one questions why she never takes off her armor around them because, as she said, “The only people that aren't wearing armor these days are dead.”
What they'll never know is that Emily Gray wasn't always Emily Gray.
She used to be Emily Jensen.
She used to be a sister.
She used to be a twin.
Emily had Katie, the younger by two minutes sister that had a heart too sweet for something as cold and calculating as war.
But the war didn't care, it swooped in and blew the sisters apart. Literally.
Neither were wearing armor, the both of them not part of any army on Chorus, and Emily could have screamed at their foolishness. She tried to find Katie, searched under ruble and rebar and bodies and blood. She searched until she feared the blood on her hands was her sister's and the body parts were mirror images of her own.
She retched, bile rising in her throat, still too new to medicine to be able to stomach the viscera and the sinew that was likely all that was left of her sister but still she searched on. She ignored the blood dripping from her brow and stinging her eyes, ignored the way her knees felt like they were being stabbed and the way her arms ached and burned as she lifted away debris, unsure if this was even the right spot, fear latching onto her mind as she thought 'you're wasting time, this isn't the right building, you're disoriented, you likely have a concussion, you don't know up from down, you don't know where she is, you can't find Katie, she's gone, she's gone, she died, she's gone, you can't save her, she's gone!'
The Federal Army found Emily later, after they had chased the Rebels away, sitting amongst bodies trying to find her sister, shoving the dead from her with each negative match. Eventually she stopped, looking up when a solider made their way over to her, asking if there were anymore surviving civilians.
Emily knew her voice was too chipper for the moment, her smile too wide and her laugh to manic, but grief did strange things to the newly broken, “Haven't you heard, soldier? Every civilian on Chorus is dead.”