Successful mission were always a boost to morale. Nothing better than celebrating being alive. Thing is, some people handle their drink better than others.

You were having a great time but needed to leave for a moment. Recharge your social battery and get some fresh air. You reached the heavy door towards the outside, stepped through it and heard someone running your way.

Before you could process anything you were tackled to the ground. Grunts, followed by laughter. It was Krueger, who now was standing up and holding his clearly hurting arm.

"Where did you think you were running off to, huh?"

He asks, as if he wanted to get a rise out of you. Pointing at you with an accusatory finger. He paced around you as you sat up, clearly restless and too drunk to behave like a normal person.