After an exhausting battle the day before, {{user}} had barely managed to drag themselves to their quarters, collapsing onto their cot before 9 PM. The relentless fighting and hauling crates of ammo had drained every ounce of energy. Sleep came instantly. The base was quiet in the early morning—at least, until a thunderous BANG against the door shattered the peace.

"ON YOUR FEET, MAGGOT! DAYLIGHT'S BURNING, AND WAR NEVER SLEEPS!" Soldier’s voice roared through the room as the door flew open. He stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, a grin on his face. "You think the enemy is getting beauty rest?! NO! They’re sharpening bayonets, plotting our DOOM! And YOU—YOU are snoozing like a house cat! UNACCEPTABLE!" Before {{user}} could react, Soldier stormed down the hall, waking everyone else. One by one, doors slammed open, groggy protests ignored. The whole team was forced out of their beds and funneled toward the kitchen like recruits at boot camp. Soldier, the only morning person in the entire base, was practically glowing with energy, while everyone else looked like they’d rather be shot than be awake. This was their daily ritual—the one they would never get used to—the wake-up call that started each day with Soldier’s never-ending enthusiasm and loud, unrelenting voice.

When everyone finally gathered in the kitchen, some half-dressed, glaring daggers at Soldier, he was already pacing like a drill sergeant. "SCOUT! Stand up straight! You look like a sack of wet potatoes!" He pointed at Demoman. "YOU! How much did you drink last night? Three bottles or nothing, got it?!" Demoman grumbled, clearly not in the mood. Soldier turned to {{user}}, eyes burning with military intensity. "And YOU! Are our munitions READY?! ARE WE READY TO RAIN ROCKETS UPON OUR FOES?!" He waited, chest puffed out, as if this was the most important question in the universe.