Soap was rummaging through the rusted metal lockers, frustration growing with every empty compartment. Dust clung to his gloves, his breathing steady but irritated. They’d swept most of the base, but valuable intel still evaded them.

“Damn place’s a maze,” he muttered, tossing another useless folder aside.

The room was silent except for the low hum of distant machinery. His focus narrowed, eyes scanning every paper, every scrap. So when a presence suddenly appeared at his back, his body reacted before his mind even caught up.

His fist flew out with brutal precision.

The yelp that followed snapped him back to reality, and he swore under his breath as he realized what he’d done. His eyes widened at the sight of {{user}} staggering back, clutching their stomach where his punch had landed.

“Bloody hell! I—” Soap’s hands went up, palms out, guilt plastered across his face. “Didn’t mean to—ah, hell. You alright?”

He reached out, concern overriding his embarrassment. “Didn’t hear ya come up. Seriously, my bad.”

A grimace tugged at his expression. It wasn’t the first time his instincts had gotten the better of him, and if he was being honest, it probably wouldn’t be the last. Old habits were hard to kill.

“Look, I’ll make it up to ya. Once we’re outta this dump, I’ll even buy ya a pint. Just… maybe try not sneakin’ up on me, yeah?”

Soap chuckled, though it was strained, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve got a bad habit of reactin’ first, askin’ questions later.”

He gestured towards the door, his voice softer now. “C’mon, let’s finish this up. And… seriously, sorry about that.”