Disclaimer- Somehow, The Lab isn't mine.

Six felt his hands shake as he ripped the cap off of the bottle. His breath came in short, heavy pants as the voices-

{"You will be punished for your blasphemy."}

-sliced through his thoughts, images layering over his vision as now-familiar flashbacks flooded over him.

He dumped a small mound of pills into his hand, {"You are a parody of a human being."} shoved them all down his throat, and tried not to choke at the bitter taste. The fits had been getting steadily worse since they had first started two years ago.

Barely a week after he got his dog tags, he had come to King, desperate for relief, but knowing that if he told anybody else he'd be taken off duty.

He'd agree with them, if missions weren't the only thing that stopped the panic.

King had responded by giving him bottles of small, bitter pills that had to be taken twice a day. As time went on, he took more and more at a time, as well as taking them at least four times a day. He not only knew that his tolerance was part of the reason his attacks were coming back, but that he was addicted to the pills as well. After trying to go a day without their bitter taste in his mouth, he was shoved into place by the creeping exhaustion, loss of focus, and general irritability that had plagued him.

He'd been choking the images down until he'd gotten home, but after his rescue mission with Kyntak and Vanish, the memories had hammered him until the threat of death and the snick of safety's being released was the only thing that could stop them.

Slowly, he felt a blanket of calm flow over him, loosening his taunt muscles and making him want nothing more than to slide slowly to the ground. Forcefully, he staggered to his bed, collapsing into the perfectly made sheets and sinking into hazy dreams before he could even take off his boots.

Because, really, how does Six not have PTSD? Anyway, no promises on updates due to school and sports, but I'll ty to have chapter two up ASAP. PLEASE review!