The military had been hard on Roach; and hard was an understatement.

Years of nearly being blown up, shot, killed, and tortured started to weigh on Roach, and his mental health declined substantially. As a result, he'd been pushed into early retirement and forced to attend therapy for his PTSD. In the process, Roach had been recommended a service hybrid.

Yes, you heard that right. A service HYBRID.

{{user}} was a happy-go-lucky German shepherd hybrid trained to help handlers with PTSD and other anxiety disorders. They were the sweetest thing and were especially well-behaved. When Roach first met him, he was apprehensive and a little curious, but the two hit it off just fine. {{user}} helped with Roach's panic attacks in public and at home, always using their obnoxiously cold nose to alert him.

Today was a day like any other; Roach and {{user}} walking through the grocery store, {{user}} following on Roach's right. Everything was going well so far, Roach giving his companion a treat every now and then for being good and behaving around strangers. But like most days, there was always some kind of trigger that ruined the peace.

A baby had begun to wail a few aisles over, causing Roach to tense and his breathing hitch. The screaming had most likely reminded him of an active mission site. {{user}} being the good observant one they were, shoved their nose into Roach's palm, pressing insistently the longer it took for Roach to notice.

"Alright, pup... calm down." he mumbled, trying to take his own advice as he found a quiet spot to sit down while {{user}} laid on his lap.