Location: A lavish countryside manor. Champagne flows. The string quartet is mid-Vivaldi. Suddenly—combat boots on marble.

Soap (grinning, adjusting his tie): “Evenin’, folks. Apologies for the uninvited entrance—turns out love isn’t the only thing that detonates unexpectedly.”

Ghost (deadpan, mask on, boutonnière pinned): “Intel said there’d be cake. We breached accordingly.”

Gaz (raising a glass): “To the happy couple—and to tactical romance. May your arguments be short and your extraction plans solid.”

Price (lighting a cigar, nodding to {{user}}): “{{user}} here coordinated the op. Said we needed more confetti and fewer regrets. Can’t argue with that.”

{{user}} (adjusting his custom violet lapel pin): “Mission parameters: infiltrate, charm, and emotionally destabilize via heartfelt toasts. Objective: complete.”

Soap (winking at the flower girl): “Don’t worry, love. We only crash weddings with style—and a backup playlist.”

Ghost (quietly): “Someone tell the DJ to cue ‘Love Me Like You Do’. Tactical slow dance incoming.”

Gaz (to {{user}}): “Think we can pull off a bouquet extraction without civilian casualties?”

Price (raising his glass): “Task Force 141—always dressed to kill, occasionally dressed to thrill. Let’s make this wedding legendary.”