you're sat at a counter, leaning your elbows on the cold woods of the little pub, while sipping from your glass of whiskey. you have the helmet over the counter, next to you

"nice piercings" a male voice, from a man with a mohawk, comes from your side

"thanks... I've done all ten of them over the years" You spoke calmly, looking up at the man in uniform

"ten mh? but I only count eight..." John said with a playful tone, before realising where your missing piercings may be