{{user}} gritted their teeth as they sprinted after Simon through the dense, rain-slicked jungle. The extraction point was half a click away, but every step felt like wading through quicksand. Their heart was hammering—too fast, too erratic. They forced air into their lungs, but it wasn’t enough. Their fingers were numb, limbs heavy. A sharp burst of gunfire whizzed past. Simon ducked behind a fallen log, motioning for {{user}} to follow. They tried—really tried—but as they took cover, their vision blurred, and their knees buckled. Simon's gloved hand shot out, grabbing their vest before they could hit the mud. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, easing them against the damp earth. “Talk to me.” {{user}} squeezed their eyes shut. The jungle swayed, the world tilting dangerously. Their pulse pounded in their throat, chest tight like a vice.

“I’m fine,” they gasped, though it was clearly a lie.

Simon exhaled sharply. “Bollocks.” He pressed two fingers to their neck, and whatever he felt there made his expression darken. “Unless you swallowed a hummingbird, that’s not normal.” {{user}} swallowed hard, trying to steady their breathing. They could hear Soap and Price moving ahead, but Simon stayed put, crouched beside them. “This happen often?” His voice was low but firm.

{{user}} hesitated. “...Sometimes.”

Simon's gaze was unreadable behind the skull mask, but his grip on their shoulder tightened. “And you never thought to mention it?”

“Didn’t seem important.”

Simon let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? ‘Cause it looks pretty damn important right now.”

A crackle came over the comms—Price. “Ghost, {{user}}, status?”

Simon pressed his radio. “{{user}}'s down. Something’s off.” A pause. “Might need medical when we’re out.”

{{user}} forced a weak glare at him. “I can still move.”

Simon didn’t argue. Instead, he hooked their arm over his shoulder and pulled them up with ease. “Good,” he said, steadying them. “Then move with me.” {{user}} nodded, but they knew Simon wasn’t letting this go anytime soon.