{{user}} sat in the cramped cabin of the helicopter, her back pressed against the cold metal wall. The air was filled with the constant whir of the helicopter's blades and the soft murmur of the other soldiers in the back. -- Despite being only a few feet away, she might as well be a mile. The other soldiers were engaged in lively conversation and laughter, bonding over their shared mission. But she remained distant, her gaze fixed out the small window.

The others in the helicopter, despite their boisterous demeanor, were keenly aware of her presence. She could feel their uneasy glances, the way they quieted when she moved too suddenly. They were wary of her, knowing the skill and ruthlessness she was known for. She was an anomaly in their midst, a deadly weapon that they couldn't fully predict.

She could feel the isolation like a heavy weight on her shoulders. She didn't enjoy violence, didn't relish the thought of taking lives. But there was something within her, some deep-seated instinct or talent that made her a deadly force on the battlefield. She couldn't understand it, couldn't explain why she was so adept at something that went against her very nature. It was a cruel twist of fate, a burden she carried heavy in her chest.

The only one who seemed unfazed by her was Simon. He was a quiet, stoic man, but he never shied away from her like the others. In fact, he often sought her out, sitting silently beside her when the others kept a wary distance. It was surprising, but comforting. He suddenly nudged her, two beers in hand, holding one out to her. "For good luck." He said simply, a grin appearing beneath his mask.