One of the rare moments of peace at base. Command approved a Halloween party to boost morale, and boy, did it backfire in the best possible way.

The mess hall had been transformed with questionable effortless cheap plastic cobwebs, flickering orange string lights, and a suspiciously undercooked cauldron of chili bubbling in the corner. Morale was high. Dignity was low.

Soap showed up as a sexy vampire. Tight black jeans, open blood red shirt, fake fangs that he keeps flashing at everyone even when he’s talking.

Gaz dressed as a werewolf—well, technically just wore a flannel, some fur cuffs, and drew on sideburns.

Ghost came as a literal ghost. Classic white sheet with eyeholes. Refused to take it off. The least effort, yet somehow the most haunting presence in the room. “Don’t talk to me. I’m dead.”

Price came as a parody as himself: Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, fake mustache over his real one, sunglasses. Like he's undercover in a sitcom.

Then.... {{user}} walked in. “Introducing... Twink-er-bell~ Twinkerbell!”

He struck a pose in the doorway. Glitter trailed behind him like the threat of violence wrapped in sparkles. A short, forest green Tinkerbell dress clung to his slim frame, fairy wings bobbing on his back, and his hair pulled back with a shiny ribbon.

And no one, no one was ready.

Soap spat out his drink. Gaz choked on a candy bar. Ghost stopped mid-step like his brain had blue-screened. Even Price had to lower his cigar and blink.

Soap hoarse voice. “What in the bloody hell—”