“So how does this work?” Reese asked when they ventured back out into the warehouse designed as the training floor.
“We’re goin’ to the VR room,” he said, leading the way.
Since the virtual reality room took up a significant portion of the training facility, Brantley knew the risk of a panic attack brought on by claustrophobia was small. From his interactions with Reese, the man only had issues when the spaces were small and dark. With this system, the scenarios would make it appear like they were in various locations—a mall, a restaurant, a park—and not inside a room.
“I’m gonna be your backup for this scenario,” Brantley explained, swinging the door wide and urging Reese inside.
He tapped a button on the wall, which brought the room to life. He’d told Dom what he was angling for, and the man had promised to have it functioning before they arrived. He’d come through for them because the floor, ceiling, and walls took on a life of their own, reflecting a large shopping mall, complete with a few shoppers moving in and out of a variety of stores.
“Holy shit,” Reese muttered.
“Looks real, huh?”
“Too real.”
Yeah, in a way, it was kinda creepy. It was so lifelike that he felt he could reach out and touch the stand for the pretzel vendor beside them, although it was merely a three-dimensional simulation.
“If it helps, we’ve got about three minutes to peruse the place.”
Reese peered over at him. “Seriously? We can go shoppin’?”
Brantley grinned. “In a sense, yeah. The program is synced to your vest,” he explained. “So the room will shift based on your movements. To walk, just simulate taking steps in one direction or another. If you get too close to an actual wall, the virtual wall grid will appear as a warning, like on those Oculus goggles you made me try.”
For the next few minutes, Brantley remained near Reese’s side as he navigated through the upper level of a mall. Brantley had no idea what went into designing a system of this magnitude, but he understood RT’s reason for wanting to keep this on the down low. They had yet to roll it out to the entire team, instead hand-selecting only a few to test it out. Brantley had been one of the few.
“There’s gonna be a threat,” he told Reese. “A man with a gun will appear in a moment. I’ll be his target. He’s not trigger-happy, but he is squirrely, so it’s your job to talk him down.”
Reese exhaled sharply. “Okay.”
Brantley moved with Reese, keeping close, reminding him he was there as they passed various shops.
“There he is,” Reese said, drawing Brantley’s attention to a big bald guy wearing a jacket. Since everyone else was wearing summer attire—shorts, T-shirts, flip-flops—he was likely using it to conceal a weapon.
As had been the case at the strip club with the twitchy-fingered bouncer, the man shifted his jacket, revealing a gun, his hand settling on the butt of it. Beside him, Reese’s breathing grew heavier.
“You,” the holographic image said in a deep, gruff voice, pointing directly at Brantley. “You’re coming with me.”
It took effort not to laugh because it was a canned statement, like something out of a bad movie.
“I don’t have all day,” the image groused. “Let’s go.”
“Like hell,” Brantley muttered, amused. In what world would he just put his hands up and surrender? He’d have to mention that to Dom and Austin. Maybe those two shouldn’t be in charge of designing the scenes.
“The boss wants to talk to you,” the image said, pulling his weapon free and raising it.
To keep with the program’s design, in a move that wasn’t something he would ever do, Brantley shifted to stand behind Reese as though using him for protection. That had the bad guy aiming his weapon directly at Reese.
“Reese? You okay?” Brantley asked when Reese was motionless, his breaths sawing in and out of his lungs as he faced off with a simulated loaded gun. “Remember, it’s not real.”
“My brain’s not processin’ that part,” he rasped.
The bad guy took a step toward them, and Reese backed up one, his hand trembling as it hovered over his weapon still holstered to his hip.
***
Somewhere deep in his gray matter, Reeseknew this wasn’t real, but his fight-or-flight instinct had kicked in, flooding his system with adrenaline. The problem was, his parasympathetic nervous system wasn’t counterbalancing the reaction.
He knew all of this, had studied it until his eyes would cross. Understanding what effects PTSD had on his body was crucial if he expected to return to the field, so he’d done his due diligence. But even in this simulated environment, his brain wasn’t processing accurately, and panic was setting in.
