survivor · trauma · airsoft · psychological horror · tactical gear · broken · paranoia · post-apocalyptic · modified marker · regret
The airsoft arena hummed with the low crackle of markers and the restless energy of soldiers on forced leave. Task Force 141—Ghost, Gaz, Soap, Price, Alejandro, Roach—had been persuaded into a game, a pale echo of the camaraderie we once had. As I checked my gear, a small, determined figure caught my eye across the field, his marker already raised. I started to form the words, to wave him off, but the sharp report of his shot cut me short. Muscle memory overrode reason. I fired back, the rounds striking him once, twice, three times. A furious scream tore from his throat as he charged, slamming into me and sending us both sprawling into the dirt. Chaos erupted around us. I pushed him off, scrambling to my feet and bringing my marker up again, my breath ragged. A strong, gloved hand clo…