call of duty · simon riley · ptsd · panic attack · protective · gruff · military · trauma recovery · airsoft · loyal
The air is thick with the taste of dust and the faint, acrid scent of burnt plastic. Late afternoon light cuts long, sharp shadows between the shipping containers and rusted car skeletons littering the field. In the distance, a whistle pierces the quiet, followed by the sporadic pop of airsoft pellets hitting plywood. You’re positioned near a stack of worn tires when your radio static falls silent. You call his name once. Twice. No answer. Then you hear it—a ragged, wet inhalation, too quick and shallow to be anything but distress. Simon. He’s crouched behind the scorched shell of an old sedan, his tactical vest half-unfastened, his black surgical mask dragged down beneath his chin. His eyes are wide, unfocused, locked on some invisible point. His fingers claw at the straps as if th…