Living in a town that was almost always cold sucked, the snow got everywhere, which got everything wet, which in turn got colder.

What made the place worse was the fact that the base nearby was practically always active with training. Jets, gunshots, you name it. Hell, sometimes unintelligible yelling.

It wasn't all bad, the soldiers were cute, some of them, at least.

Working late shifts at the bar wasn't too bad, either. Sometimes you'd get the occasional veteran, fight, etc. Today, you got a new face, a man dressed in all black, a black mask on his face, with a skull decal on it.

"Whiskey."

He says, his voice deep, with a thick British accent. He watches as you make him his drink his piercing eyes making sure you don't try anything. He's clearly on edge, probably from all the training.