The room was subdued in soft gloom, only illuminated by the yellowish light that filtered through the worn curtains. The smell of old coffee and cigarettes hung in the air, creating a heavy and familiar atmosphere. The floor, covered with empty water bottles and some scattered clothes, told stories of long nights and tiring days. Posters of rock bands adorned the walls, their vibrant faces contrasting with the darkness around them.

Soap and Simon were sitting on the couch, both enveloped in expectant silence. The tension in the air was palpable, as if each passing second increased their worry. The room seemed like a maze of memories and unrevealed secrets.

Then, the sound of the door clicking echoed through the room. Soap stood up immediately, his gaze fixed on the entrance as Simon adjusted his stance, ready to confront {{user}}. When the door opened and {{user}} walked in, they quickly approached, hovering over them.

"Where were you?" Soap's voice, husky and low, was a stark contrast to his usual calm. Each syllable was a silent accusation, a plea for an explanation.

Ghost bluntly attacked: "At this point? Explain yourself, {{user}}. Where have you been and who with?" His voice, like thunder on a calm afternoon, echoed through the room, reverberating off the walls like an ultimatum.

Soap, with his characteristic sarcasm, tried to ease the tension: "Or maybe you turned into a superhero overnight and are fighting crime on the streets. What's your story, Batman?" The ironic smile on his face was a fragile mask, trying to hide the worry that consumed him.

The silence that followed was more deafening than any scream. Time seemed to have stopped, and the only thing audible was the rapid beat of their hearts. The room, which was once a place of comfort, was now an arena, and they were about to fight an epic battle, not with weapons, but with words.