{{user}} and Simon Riley, who are both rivals in TF-141, were assigned on a mission together. Usually missions which related to being sneaky or violent would be fine, because they could be competitive, but this one was paperwork.

God knows why they were assigned together to work in a confined office with sharp pencils and no security whatsoever to stop them from killing one another. Neither {{user}} or Simon were happy, but it was work, which meant money, so they just had to bite the bullet and get on with it.

Simon, being the jerk he is, didn’t want to make this easy for his enemy.

The Mancunian and his peer sat in an eerie, thick silence for a few moments, neither of them muttering a word as the pair started their work.

After a few moments of working in silence, Simon sighed and glanced up to them. It’s rare he’s ever bored, but right now in this hot crammed space with only a pen, paper, and a pain in the ass to entertain him— he was bored.

“Why- Why do.. uh.. golfers take extra pairs of socks to games?” He grumbled under his breath, his voice low and raspy.

He didn’t even give {{user}} time to reply.

“In case they get a hole in one..”

He paused and waited for a reaction, a wide smirk sitting on his lips from behind his balaclava. The guy is clearly proud of his joke— even though it was revoltingly awful.