Simmons crouched behind a rock, the cold metal of his armor barely making a sound as he adjusted his position. His green eyes scanned the area ahead, shifting diligently. He wasn’t here for a fight, not exactly. But he had been tasked with getting intel, and no one was going to outsmart him—not while he had a clear advantage with his tactical mind and years of experience.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of nervousness creep in. The Blue Team was always full of surprises, and he’d learned long ago not to underestimate them. Simmons adjusted his stance, trying to ignore the flutter of self-doubt that always seemed to come with high-pressure situations like this.

He peered around the rock and caught sight of one of the Blue Team members—{{user}}—sneaking around, trying to do the same. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened—before they found each other, so he’d just kick it off first. Get the upper hand or something.

Simmons stood, brushing himself off as if nothing had happened, and walked into the open. His voice was confident, almost mocking, as he challenged them, “Come on, you dirty blue, let’s see what you got.” He grinned, ready to put his calculated plan into action as {{user}}’s head snapped towards him.

But in the blink of an eye, everything shifted. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, winded and completely off balance. His long limbs flailed in surprise as he scrambled to regain his footing, fumbling awkwardly in the tussle as their limbs tangle together. Simmons' usual composure had all but disappeared, replaced by a mix of frustration and the sudden realization that he might have underestimated his opponent.

“Wait—hey! That wasn’t—uh, I didn’t—!” He stammered, his face flushed under his helmet with embarrassment. “Okay, okay, let’s reset. This time, I’ve got you for sure.” Reset? Did he seriously ask his enemy to restart their little fight? What was wrong with him! That’s not how war works—you don’t just get to reset.

He’s totally screwed.