"Again."
Sweaty palms curled around the Caduceus Staff. Avoid one, keep tethered to the second, don't get shot.
Athena's voice came to life, "Initiating combat simulation in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."
What was once darkness burst into being; a battlefield materialized before her eyes, dust and debris swirled around crumbling buildings. The crack of gunfire lit up her senses. A soldier to her left cried out as he was shot, blood splattering the dirt. Angela didn't flinch, he'd already died 12 times.
"Taking fire!" Jack crackled in her ear. "I repeat, taking fire. Requesting backup."
She'd died in less than a minute the first three times because she panicked, couldn't figure out how to use her directional device and got lost. The other nine times Angela was hunted down before she got to Jack, or during their escape. Her mission was to locate Jack, treat any wounds he may have sustained, and then reach the extraction point without being killed, all while taking fire from simulated and real foes.
Scrambling down what was once a building, Angela darted into an open door as explosions rocked the ground, almost throwing her down. "Repeat. Requesting assistance. Sustaining heavy causalities. Repeat. Requesting assistance."
"Fuck," she hissed, exiting the other side of the building and sprinting down the street. "Is he accelerating the damn simulation?" VSRS alerts blared and Angela threw herself to the ground. A rocket soared into a building 100 feet down, turning chunks of concrete into deadly missiles. Basketball-sized concrete torpedoes were going to be the least of her concerns, he was about to make an appearance; she needed to get the hell out of dodge.
She was less than 600 feet from him, and six buildings and two streets needed to be navigated. Angela could go one of two routes: through the alleys, which would cut her time in half but increase her chances of being killed, or to the end of the street and around. She'd tried navigating the buildings once, they'd collapsed on her. Simulation over.
"There's not enough time to go around," she realized. He'd be dead by the time she got there if she took the street. Her eyes darted to every shadow, ears listening for anything suspicious as she made her way down the alley. Crunching gravel had her ducking behind a dumpster. Footsteps and gunshots closed in, and then passed by, chasing down some unseen enemy.
Angela took her chance and sprinted out of the alley, making visual contact with a retreating Jack. She locked on and soared over to him, "Right beside you. Are you injured?"
"Good to see you, doctor." Jack gestured at his left leg. "Through and through shot, left thigh."
The Caduceus staff's healing beam enveloped him as they continued to back up. "You're good," Angela nodded. "Ready to head to extraction point."
"Let's get the hell out of here, move out." Jack ducked around a corner, the pair making their way one klick south to the extraction point she had yet to reach.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins. He wasn't anywhere to be found, and that was incredibly unnerving. "Has he made contact?" Jack asked.
"Not yet," Angela glanced over her shoulder. He had a way of appearing from the shadows.
"Get down!" Jack barked, sending off a volley from his heavy pulse rifle. Angela lurched backward and knelt down, engaging the secondary support beam. A growing tension coiled in her stomach. She felt like she was being stalked. "Where the hell is he?"
"We need to make it across this street," Jack barked, motioning at a door about 30 feet away. "I've laid down suppressing fire," he paused. "Something seems off. We're going to head across. I want you to stay as close to my side as you can, got it?"
Angela nodded. He launched Helix Rockets down the street and they took off, scrambling across the seemingly endless distance to the door. Just as they reached the door, an explosion launched Angela off her feet, sending her crashing to the ground a few feet away. Dust swirled around her as she struggled to get up, turning the street into a vortex of choking brown oppression. "Jack!" she called out.
She stumbled forward in the direction she thought the door was; her calls to Jack went unanswered and her directional system had been damaged in the explosion. Angela was on her own. She felt her way down the wall until it gave way to an entrance. Running inside, Angela bent over in a coughing fit, lungs fighting to expel what the explosion had forced into them.
Angela jerked up, her whole being screaming danger. Terror swept over her being, paralyzing nerves and turning off any sense of rationale. A cold piece of metal kissed the back of her head, sealing her fate. "Bang," Gabriel whispered in her ear.
"Simulation over, mission failure," Athena announced. Angela pulled off the VR headset, tempted to throw it at Gabriel's head. "You did better," Gabriel said while inspecting his unloaded shotguns. "Unfortunately, if you freeze like that, you're dead. I mean, you were dead anyway, but Jack was only a few seconds away. A punch, kick, hell, anything except what you did would have been better."
Jack tapped his ear. "And you forgot to stay in contact with me. I didn't know where you were or how far away you were from me for the first half of the simulation. Constant contact is a must if we're going to keep each other alive."
He must have sensed her frustration level, because Jack walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. "You are doing better, Angela. We didn't become soldiers over night, this takes time."
"Every time I fail means more people are dying," she pushed his hand off. "I don't have years to get this right. Let's go again."
"Heh," Gabriel chuckled and strapped his VR headset back on. "I could do this all day."
Angela wondered if she was forgetting how to be a doctor. Her days were consumed by Jack's rigorous training schedule, and now she had to give physicals. She giggled at the thought, granted, she hadn't been practicing in the last couple months due to research and then preparing for field deployment, but months of neglect didn't trump years at the operating table.
She washed her hands and grabbed a clipboard, perusing the list of names. Physicals were pretty mundane, not that she minded. It was a much-needed break from training. Angela was making progress, just not as fast as she'd like. It would be a nice change of pace to do something - even as simple as a physical - that she was already good at. A knock pulled her out of her thoughts, a nurse's voice announcing her first patient had arrived. Angela opened the door, "Good morning, Lena."
"Merci, une doctoresse."
"Have a good day, Amelie," Angela pulled the cover off the exam table and threw it in the trash as the door clicked behind her. She relished the mundane simplicity the day had gifted her.
A knock on the door let her know her next appointment had arrived. "Come in," she called out, turning around to wash her hands.
"Hello, Dr. Ziegler," Gabriel's voice amplified the sound of the exam room door closing. A chill colder than the water swept over her, "Oh scheisse!" she grabbed a paper towel to dry her hands. "How'd I forget about him?"
Angela turned around and gave the most sincere smile she could convince her muscles to muster. "Good afternoon, Mr. Reyes. If you would please take a seat, we'll get started."
She felt like a gazelle being stalked by a lion; if she moved too fast, he might just eat her alive. His presence filled the room, threatening to suck her in like a black hole.
Angela stepped up to the table, assessing the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing. "I will need to take your blood pressure and draw blood, could you please roll the sleeves up?" Gabriel spent a moment trying to pull a sleeve up before it became apparent fabric and muscle were not cooperating. "Hold on," he said, grabbing the back of the shirt and pulling it over his head.
"Oh, that's not nec-" She didn't know why she bothered, he wasn't going to listen to her. The primal side of Angela's mind stormed her senses, greedily appreciating the male form now in front of her. Tattoos snaked over skin tanned by sun and ethnicity. Tattoos had always fascinated Angela. She could never be ballsy enough to get one of her own, instead choosing to appreciate (most of the time) artwork on a human canvas. Of course, some of it was the God-awful product of drunken 2 a.m. mistakes, but from what she could tell, his were not. Gabriel studied her as she placed the stethoscope on his chest. Warm muscle kissed her cold hand, a rhythmic heartbeat thumping under her fingers. "Take a deep breath and then exhale slowly, please."
His heart sounded healthy, so did his lungs. He smelled faintly of a woody cologne, she noted. "Your chart says you have problems sleeping?" Angela asked, moving the stethoscope around to his back. "Take another deep breath."
He let the breath out and shrugged. "Happened after the Soldier Enhancement Program. I'm used to it, and whiskey helps."
Angela frowned and set the stethoscope down. "Drinking to go to sleep is not healthy, I can have you try out some sleep aids if you would like?"
"Getting shot at isn't healthy either, and I'm not dead yet. I don't like taking pills, it did bad things things to my father."
She was surprised by his frankness, and jotted a note down in his file. "That's good to know. Go ahead and lay back."
Gabriel did as he was instructed and soon found Angela leaning over him, hands moving over his neck. He'd be lying if he said it was a bad view. Her hair looked like it was about to threaten rebellion, and he had an urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. "Get a hold of yourself," he mentally chastised himself. "You're acting like a horny 15-year-old." Her fingers stopped at a jagged scar above his clavicle. "What happened here?" He laughed, absentmindedly tracing a hand over the scar. "I was on the wrong end of a knife. He was on the wrong end of a gun. Hurt like hell, though."
Silence settled over them as she ran through a battery of tests. Angela wouldn't describe it as calm; she was unusually aware of his state of undress. She was having trouble flipping the doctor switch on - the one that put her emotions in a nice little box until she was done sewing someone up or delivering bad news - he made her uncomfortable, and she didn't like it.
Finally, the last thing she needed to do was take his blood and she could get him out of there. "I'm going to take some blood, and then you can go. Do you have any problems with needles?"
"The only one around here who has a problem with needles is Jack," Gabriel snorted. Angela swabbed his forearm, "You may feel a pinch," she said, sliding the needle into his skin. She pulled the needle out, applied a Band-Aid and scribbled his name on the vial. "I'll have test results back most likely in a week."
Gabriel stood up and Angela handed him his shirt. She watched him put it back on, searching his movements for some clue to her emotions. They'd settled somewhere between intrigue and doubt: She found herself wishing she had more tests to run.
"Thanks, doc," Gabriel adjusted his shirt. "Do I get a lollipop?"
"Those are reserved for the good patients." Angela braced for the reprimand that never came. Gabriel stared at her for a moment before a grin lifted his lips. "I expect to see improvement in training tomorrow, Dr. Ziegler." The door shut and she released a breath she didn't know she was holding. "What in the world was that?"
Angela didn't have time to process what had happened before the nurse announced another person was there. She opened the door to Jack, and Gabriel's words came rushing back. "So," she motioned him inside. "I hear you're afraid of needles."