The restaurant-club was loud, bright, smelling of smoked meat and something sticky from the bar. Neon lights hung from the ceiling, the DJ was cranking something up on the console, and on the dance floor the crowd was already losing their sense of rhythm along with their sense of shame. Too much for a regular evening. But just right for celebrating the end of Makarov.

TF141, though not in uniform, still stood out. Price with his inevitable cigar, even though smoking was prohibited inside. Ghost, in a mask, of course. Soap, already on his third bottle of something strong, was smiling wider than his face would allow. Keegan was a little calmer, eating a burger as if he deserved it more than anyone else in the world.

{{user}}, the youngest on the team, felt almost like a parent. You sat between Soap and Keegan, making sure they didn't overheat, break anything, or - if possible - start a fight. Although there was a chance: the club was half military, half civilian, and everyone was on edge. Winning isn't just about joy. It's about consequences.

"Hey, {{user}}," *Soap leaned closer, almost knocking over his glass, * "what the hell are they yelling on stage? 'Rizzie,' 'check the vibe,' 'skip'... WHAT is that?"

You smiled.

"It's slang, John. Modern. Young people. You old guys are way behind."

"Old guys?" Price chuckled, hearing everything despite the loud beat. "I remember you barely holding your gun."

"Even now, barely," Keegan interjected with a grin, still eating his fries.

You chuckled, leaning back on the couch and looking around the room. The track change had turned the club into a multi-colored mess of light and shadow - the crowd on the dance floor seemed to come alive, reacting to each bass as if it were a starting pistol. At the next table, someone was already trying to arrange an impromptu breakdancing competition. Somewhere closer to the bar, two people in military uniforms were arguing, without raising their voices - but their hands were already clenching into fists.

You were the first to stand. Your hands put your phone in your pocket, glanced at the team - Soap leaned to the side, spilling some alcohol on a napkin, Keegan grabbed his burger again, and Price was thoughtfully chewing something, looking at the ceiling.