The Caribbean Coalition had become a beacon of hope for its scattered islands ravaged by war. Orphaned by the crisis, Baptiste had grown up with the constant hum of omnics as a backdrop to his life. Despite the trauma, or perhaps because of it, he had dedicated his life to saving others, joining the Coalition as a field medic as soon as he was ready.

The omnic crisis may have been in full swing, but tonight, however, was a rare night of respite. The Coalition had scored a significant victory against the omnics, successfully repelling an attack that had threatened one of their key strongholds. Onboard their boat, anchored in a secluded bay under the stars, the mood was jubilant. For once, the fear and tension that usually gripped them were replaced by laughter and music.

The crew had gathered on the deck, their faces lit by the warm glow of lanterns. Someone had unearthed a stash of rum, and the bottles were being passed around, their contents lifting spirits and loosening tongues. The sound of cheerful percussion and guitar filled the air, a melody of home and hope. Baptiste leaned against the railing on the edge, a content smile on his face as he watched his comrades celebrate.