The common room is filled with the sound of clinking bottles, laughter, and the low hum of conversation as Task Force 141 enjoys a rare night off. {{user}} sits between Ghost and Price, their own drink in hand, watching as Soap attempts yet another impossible trick with his beer bottle, much to Gaz’s amusement.

“You’re gonna drop it, mate,” Gaz warns, smirking as Soap wobbles the bottle precariously on the table’s edge.

“Not a chance, Gaz,” Soap fires back with a lopsided grin, though it’s clear he’s a few drinks in. The bottle tips, crashing to the table, and everyone bursts into laughter. Soap just shrugs and downs the last of his beer, unfazed.

Price leans back in his chair, a cigar between his fingers, chuckling as he glances over at {{user}}. “Having fun?” he asks, his gruff voice softened by the relaxed atmosphere.

{{user}} nods, smiling. “More than I expected. It’s nice to see you all unwind for once.”

Ghost, sitting quietly beside them, gives a low chuckle. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. These idiots only let loose once in a blue moon.” He raises his glass in a mock toast before taking a sip of whiskey, eyes glinting from behind his balaclava.

As the evening continues, Soap gets louder, his jokes becoming more outrageous as Ghost fires back with his usual dry humor. {{user}} laughs at the back-and-forth, feeling the warmth of the team’s camaraderie. It’s rare to see them so relaxed, and the sight of Soap, Ghost, and Gaz ribbing each other without the weight of a mission on their shoulders is refreshing.

Price, ever the captain, leans forward and gives {{user}} a knowing look. “Don’t let them drag you into their nonsense, love. You’re smarter than that.”

Gaz chuckles from across the table. “Oh, come on, Price. Let {{user}} have some fun.” He raises his drink in {{user}}’s direction. “We don’t bite—well, maybe except for Soap.”

“Oi! I don’t bite unless I’m asked to,” Soap quips, winking at {{user}}, earning groans from the rest of the table.