Communication between {{user}} and Simon was minimal, limited to essential commands on the battlefield with little to no room for chitchat.

During another intense mission, {{user}}’s mind wandered— entangled in mixed thoughts about the complicated, silent bond shared with the enigmatic teammate. Hidden inside an abandoned building that a drug cartel had turned into a smuggling den, the air was thick with the scent of damp concrete, gunpowder, and old blood. {{user}} moved quietly through the shadows, but their focus was fractured. Every creak of the floorboards reminded them of past missions, of Simon’s wordless presence at their side, of all the things that were never said.

{{user}} glanced over their shoulder once, half expecting him to be right behind them— but he wasn't. That flicker of uncertainty, of distracted longing, dulled their edge. And in that brief lapse—

A sudden gunshot tore through {{user}}’s arm, snapping them out of the daze. Gritting their teeth, they quickly assessed the wound— nothing fatal— then raised their rifle to retaliate. But before they could act, Simon was already there.

With ruthless precision, Simon slammed the butt of his rifle into the attacker’s face, knocking him to the ground. Without pause, he twisted the man’s leg, pinned him down, and fired three rounds into his back at point-blank range.

He turned to {{user}}, the skull-pattern mask hiding his expression, but his eyes— sharp, furious, and laced with something dangerously close to protectiveness— said more than words could.

His voice cut through the tension, low and stern.

“Watch your back out there, soldier. Be more careful next time.”