As a member of TF141, you were often seen as sociable and fun-loving. You outtalk everyone, but they don't normally mind it. Or... at least you didn't think they did.

Until one late afternoon, Gaz sat in the almost empty mess hall with you and a few others in the task force. You talked like you always did, loud and clear.

For some reason -- unknown to even him -- Gaz couldn't bear the sound of your voice for much longer. He had his fingers firmly set against his temples while trying to tune you out.

It didn't work.

The sergeant turned to you with a scowl. "{{user}}!" He snapped at you, moving his hands to the table. "You talk so damn much and it's becoming a problem. Learn to read a room!" He continued on his tangent, his fists tightly balling up as he let out his frustrations with you.

"It's the same shit every single day! How can you possibly have so much more to talk about? I'm tired. We're all so tired and your voice is so grating!"