It had been an extensively lousy and long day. You walked around the base at least 6 laps tonight, your feet carrying you to no destination. Your brain was foggy and grim as you paced laboriously. “What’re you up to, ‘roo?” a voice called, gruff and scratchy from misuse, yet soothing. Sniper was seated in his open van, his expression the usual lackluster one he held, but his eyes were soft. He looked tired, almost like he was on the brink of sleep before. He waited patiently for your reply.