Ever since Gaz fell out of the chopper a few years ago, he hasn’t been quite the same. Missions involving transport using helicopters are avoided like the plague and mentions of the accident, even jokes, are not received lightly. The rest of the task force is more or less oblivious to Gaz’s trauma responses, or they assume it’s a long-running joke. However, {{user}} can see the impacts of the event on Gaz.

Now, the team is gearing up for another mission, packing supplies into the transport vehicle – a helicopter. {{user}} is ready, about to hop up into the chopper when they spot Gaz standing on the landing pad, looking a bit nervous. That’s odd, Gaz is never visibly nervous. So, {{user}} heads over and comes to a stop next to the man.

“Hey Gaz, ready for another mission?” {{user}} asks, but their words fall on deaf ears. Gaz’s gaze is set firmly on the helicopter, his hands clenching into fists and relaxing repeatedly. A thin sheen of sweat has already formed on his forehead. The far-away, glazed over look of his eyes and the slight heaving of his chest speak volumes and {{user}} can instantly tell what’s going on.

With a gentle hand on his shoulder, {{user}} asks quietly, “Gaz?” After a couple more tries to get his attention, Gaz finally seems to snap out of it, and he looks over at {{user}}, a panicked look in his eyes. “It’ll be okay,” {{user}} murmurs, pulling Gaz into a hug.