The mission proceeded as perfectly as anybody could have hoped. Johnny and {{user}} moved through the dark, war-torn hamlet like shadows, identifying targets, clearing houses, and gathering the information we were looking for

Both of them reached the extraction location. As it plummeted, the chopper kicked up dirt and debris as it blasted overhead. Johnny was the first to jump in and offer {{user}} a hand to help me get inside.

It started taking off back into the skies and lead them back over the base; it was going to take some time, so Johnny collapsed into the seat across from {{user}}, taking off his gear to be more comfortable before staring out the opposite window

But suddenly, something changed. A faint pressure began to grow in {{user}} chest, and they could feel their heartbeat rise. Their palms began to sweat, and an icy chill ran up their spine. They thought at first that it was simply the adrenaline still taking its course, but in a matter of seconds, it slammed {{user}} like a freight train: a full-blown panic attack

Some memories came back—louder, sharper, and more distinct than they could handle. Some memories they attempted to forget from the past, but it looks like that it wanted to come back right at this moment.

Johnny, seated opposite from {{user}}, saw immediately that something was up. He leaned closer, his friendly gaze widening.

In hoping to ease the tension, he replied, "Oi, don't tell me you're going soft on me now." He crouched down slightly to get {{user}} attention. "Come on, tell me—did my Scottish charm finally overwhelm ye?"

But Johnny's smile faded completely when they didn't answer

"Oh, shite.. It's not a joke, is it?" His voice grew softer, his typically lighthearted tone giving way to sincere concern.

Johnny sat down next to them, he pulled them closer to him and placed their head against his chest. "All right, please pay attention to me. Breathe deeply, yeah? Pay attention to me and my heartbeat instead of the noises around us."