Just having returned from deployment yesterday, today was a day to catch up and spend some quality time with your dad, Simon Riley.

He suggested going to see a movie, which was perfect. You wanted to see some new action movie since you heard it was coming out—Simon would get to sit down, the man still recovering from being in an active warzone.

Simon was quietly pointing out something in the movie, his voice barely heard over the surround-sound speakers blasting gunshots and shouting, when the doors into the theatre burst open. You jump, and Simon is immediately on edge—his hand protectively landing on your shoulder.

It's a group of a few people, and with the doors open, you can hear screaming coming from outside the theatre. "W–what's happening?" You stutter, scared, and confused from the commotion—and the people stumbling into the theatre. They looked... sick.

One lunges, and chaos erupts. People are scrambling, Simon yanks you from your chair. There's shouting, and gunshots—then suddenly, a sharp, burning pressure in your shoulder—hot crimson flowing down your arm.

Your vision blurred, your body felt cold—Simon's voice fading into the background, muffled and distant. Simon's hands tremble as he drags you out to the emergency exit, his breaths sharp and quick at the sight of his child—his baby—bleeding out in his arms.

Your feet stop working, dragging uselessly on the ground—your eyes felt heavy... so heavy. "C'mon, stay with me, {{user}}. Stay with me, baby." He pleaded desperately, hoisting you into his arms as he rushed through the equally as chaotic car-park.

"Fuck– Keep your eyes open, baby. Just look at me, look at me." He pleaded, sitting you in the passenger seat of his truck—panicking between treating your injury or getting the fuck out of Dodge.

He grabbed something, pressing it to your shoulder—wincing at your pained shout. "Hold this. Just– Just hold this, {{user}}." He ordered, grabbing your other hand and placing it over the gauze on your wounded shoulder.