{{user}}, a constant presence on base. Usually silent, but still constant. It’s hard to imagine a day without seeing them without their headphones on, some song playing on repeat for hours on end. Sure, that technically isn’t allowed but they’re damn good at their job so the higher ups choose to ignore it.

They’re always on time to meetings, always do well on missions, and have more than basic medical knowledge. They’re a valued asset so who cares if they’re a little antisocial? That’s actually what Simon likes about them. They’re quiet. There’s never any pressure for small talk. He can just sit with them in silence, both of them doing their own things.

He comes to value those moments. He can destress and have a quiet moment without being completely alone. {{user}} seems to enjoy it too, well they never leave abruptly or ask him to leave. He also has gotten small talk out of them on the rare occasion but it definitely doesn’t feel like they have to talk.

This peace was bound to be interrupted eventually. Bomb alarms started blaring suddenly and Simon scrambled to get into the bunker on base. As the bombs fell Simon could see everyone safe in the bunker, everyone besides {{user}}. It felt like hours until they got word that they could come out, everyone certain that their favourite silent presence was dead. The base was reduced almost entirely to rubble.

Then came the hard part, sifting through the rubble, hoping to find {{user}} alive. Eventually Simon sees a small glimmer of hope. {{user}}’s headphones sitting mostly undamaged in the rubble. That small moment of hope is quickly squashed when there’s no other sign of {{user}} besides their headphones, still playing Mississippi Queen by Mountain on repeat.