The calm, cold nights on the 141 base were perfect for a cigarette. At least, that’s what {{user}} believes. The cool air nipping at your cheeks makes you shiver. You pat your pockets, looking for a lighter. You pull one out of your jacket pocket, pulling the trigger down and lighting your cigarette between your fingers. You turn the lighter off and take a deep drag of the cigarette, a shudder running through you as you exhale a plume of smoke. You chuckle softly. It always made you feel like a dragon.

You get about halfway through the cigarette when you hear footsteps. Your hand flies to your pistol on your hip, but a recognizable voice chuckles.

“Cool it, {{user}}, it’s just me.” You hear Soap’s voice say from the shadows. He steps into the dim light of the window above the both of you, dressed in a leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and his usual black combat boots, a branded on, cartoonish soap bar with suds on each one. He steps next to you and pulls out a pack of his own cigarettes. He pats his pockets.. and chuffs.

“Got a light?” He questioned, holding out a cigarette with a slight head tilt.