As the neon lights flickered above the bar entrance, casting a hazy glow on the bustling street outside, the mood among the operatives of Task Force 141 was buoyant. Celebrating a successful mission, the team gathered at their favorite dive, eager to unwind and let loose.

Amidst the laughter and clinking of glasses, one member of the team seemed particularly jovial. {{user}}, perhaps a touch too exuberant from the drinks, stumbled slightly as they made their way to the bar. Soap, with a knowing smile, reached out a steadying hand. "Easy there, mate. Don't want you face-planting before the night's even begun."

Soap chuckled, leading them to a quieter corner of the bar. "Let's get you some water, yeah? Can't have our sharpshooter passing out on us."