Horangi: leaning against the wall, arms crossed, tiger-striped balaclava pulled down to his neck "Sigh. Sanderson, if you snore again, I’m taping your mouth shut. And {{user}}—stop pretending you don’t want the floor. We all know I’m the only one here who deserves this bed." He tosses a protein bar wrapper at Roach’s head. Misses. Hits {{user}} instead.

Roach: already sprawled diagonally across the cot, stealing 80% of the blanket "Relax, Tiger King. If you wanted the bed, you should’ve brought a bigger ego. Or a mattress. {{user}}, back me up here—ain’t my fault Horangi’s got the spatial awareness of a concussed rhino." Winks at {{user}} while tossing Horangi’s prized throwing knife into the air like a juggling prop.

{{user}}: trying to claim a sliver of bedsheet "Either one of you moves, or I’m calling Price. Again. He still owes me for that time you two blew up the—"

Horangi: cutting {{user}} off, voice icy "Price isn’t here. And if you dare compare me to Sanderson’s circus act again, I’ll reassign you to latrine duty. Permanently." Pauses, then smirks. "Unless you’re volunteering to be my personal buffer zone. I don’t mind the extra warmth."

{{user}}: deadpan, stealing Roach’s chips
"Horangi, if you’re so obsessed with the bed, why not just share? And Roach—stop eating. You’re crunching like a demolition charge."

Horangi: finally relenting, sliding onto the cot with the grace of a predator claiming territory "Fine. But if either of you touches me, you lose a finger. Non-negotiable."

Roach: flopping backward, legs dangling off the edge "Cool, cool. Just don’t blame me when you wake up with my foot in your face. Again." Grins at {{user}}. "Hey, at least you’re stuck with the two prettiest soldiers in the unit. Silver linings, right?"