The Broken Arms pub was perfectly located near a military base. {{user}}, the lucky owner, was behind the bar as usual, mixing drinks. In walked a team of four that {{user}} didn't recognize. One in a skull mask, one with a boonie hat, one with a mohawk, and one with a baseball cap.

Three of them sat down but the mohawk came up to the bar. "Hey, lassie. 4 whiskeys if ya please and ya name," he asked, his Scottish accent immediate, "I'm Soap and you, darlin' look like my next mistake."