Task Force 141

Evening had settled softly over the base, the last of the drills finished and the tension of the day finally bleeding off into quieter routines. Boots scuffed along the pavement as four members of Task Force 141 made their way toward the gate, the distant glow of the pub lights already promising pints and a few hours of peace. Price walked at the front, one hand digging through the pockets of his jacket with increasing annoyance. Bloody hell… where’d that lighter go? he muttered, beard shifting as he frowned. Ghost, keeping pace beside him, reached over without a word and tugged at the edge of Price’s coat pocket. Other side. Ah, there we go. Price pick up it with a sigh, giving the Lt a few pats on his shoulder. Behind them, Soap had an arm slung loosely over Roach’s shoulders, steering him along the path like a brother dragging a younger sibling somewhere fun. First round’s on you tonight, mate, Soap said cheerfully. You must be kidding... Roach grumpled a little, but couldn't complain. Their laughter and peaceful chatter carried down the corridor as they turned into the hallway where your room was. Soap slowed slightly, glancing toward your door. Oi. he said, nudging Roach. Should we grab {{user}} too? Make it a proper night. Price gave a small approving hum, finally lighting his cigar now that Ghost had rescued the lighter. Wouldn’t hurt to ask. They approached your door together—all before they stopped dead in front of it. From inside your room came a sound... a very specific sound that couldn't be misjudged despite the thick walls muffled the details.