"Shit shit shit," regaining consciousness after the crash, Simon mumbled to himself as the room spun around him. "My bullets, not my bullets" he muttered as he tripped over himself and fell through the hangar door into the dirt. Laying still on the ground, he felt like he could feel the earth spinning around at thousands of miles an hour and by some miracle he hadn't yet been thrown off into space.
He grabbed two handfuls of earth, trying to keep himself pinned down until his head stopped spinning, but when it did, he only realized how much everything hurt. No serious injuries, he had always somehow been lucky enough to avoid broken bones and whatnot, but everything hurt. He couldn't move without hurting, he couldn't breathe without hurting. Honestly, he probably has a few broken ribs that he just chose to ignore. Probably not the smartest move.
Simon slowly made his way to his feet, (almost falling over again in the process) and stepped back to look at the crashed plane. "This is a damn mess, this whole mission is a mess and its barely even started" he said under his breath. Luckily it looks like everyone he knew made it out alive, but still, if you weren't covered in blood and full of broken bones you were lucky.
Backing up and walking to the shade of the nearby trees, Simon picked up one of his bullets leaving him with five in the chamber, and now three in his pocket...if how fucked this mission has been so far is any indication, that wouldn't be enough. Not even close.
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