It was late at the TF 141 base after a particularly rough mission that had almost ended in fatalities. {{user}} was sitting on the roof of the base, blasting music through their phone while smoking a cigarette to numb the rushing emotions. Footsteps broke the somewhat comfortable loneliness, and a rough, Scottish voice rang through the quiet air.

"Cold out here, aye? Got a spare cigarette?" Ah, it was Soap. Good old Soap. {{user}}'s friend of many years. He always made things easier.

{{user}} handed him a cigarette, and then the song Creep by Radiohead began to play. They both knew the words, and before they knew it, the two were shouting the lyrics in the harsh cold night to quiet the thoughts and memories of the previous mission.