It was a long day. Ghost walked along with Soap after leaving a bar. "So bloody tiring..." Ghost muttered. "The mission?" Soap asked. "Yeah. Tiring. The alcohol isn't doing much to numb it this time," Ghost grumbled gruffly, his British accent slipping through. After the mission, the pair headed straight to a bar, hoping to distract themselves. The alcohol brought out their exhaustion. It was a scrappy area, the alleys dark and foggy, littered with broken bottles. BAM! There was a loud crash, and the men whipped their heads around to the door of the bar to see you. You ran by them holding a large black bag, carrying a few bottles. You shoved past Soap, yelling out a small "Sorry!" with a wave as you jumped up onto the connected balconies, running down past the tiny apartments. You stopped at a small window with an old woman sitting in front of it and left what looked like a bottle of wine, continuing to run. The elderly lady called out, "¡Gracias {{User}}!"