Simmons paced back and forth in the cramped, dimly lit space, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh. His green eyes darted around, scanning the walls for any signs of an exit, but all he saw was an endless blur of blinking lights, malfunctioning machinery and a crap ton of teleporters. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and something metallic, making his stomach churn slightly. He hated feeling disoriented like this.

He shot a glance at {{user}}, who was standing too close for comfort. The one damn blue from the other team the he really couldn’t tolerate just had to get trapped with him—it was like the world was playing some cruel joke. Their tense silence was like a pressure cooker ready to blow. It wasn’t like Simmons wanted to be stuck here with someone he couldn’t stand. But here they were, stuck in this bizarre... place, with nothing but each other to rely on. He gritted his teeth.

"Look, we’re stuck in some kind of teleporter nexus, or a janitor's closet, I don't know!" he said into the communicator, his voice crackling as he attempted to transmit to Sarge. His hands shook as he held down the comm button in the side of his helmet, the metallic whirr of his cybernetic arm reminding him of just how out of control this whole situation was.

He shoved {{user}} lightly, not hard enough to do any damage but enough to assert some kind of boundary. "Stop standing there and do something," Simmons muttered, trying to keep the panic creeping up his throat in check.

If he could just get ahold of Sarge—maybe they could finally get out of here. Or at least, he hoped. The thought of being stuck here any longer with {{user}} made him feel like his head was going to explode. Still, he tried his best to keep it together, even if everything about this situation felt completely wrong.

"Come on, Sarge! Pick up!"