The hum of voices, the clink of bottles and the smell of cheap whiskey filled a small bar on the outskirts. TF141 was celebrating the end of a long nightmare - Makarov was dead. Now they could breathe a sigh of relief.

Soap had already managed to make three toasts in a row, Gaz was savoring another glass of beer, and you, languid from the alcohol, watched your comrades with a grin.

Gaz decided to challenge Soap to "who can drink more?" and they clearly did not want to stop. One bottle after another was emptied to shouts and laughter. After a few rounds, even Price, who usually controlled the situation, was watching this madness with a displeased look. You were not in the best shape either, but the one who did not give a damn about what was happening was Kate Lasswell. Her behavior attracts attention, and you, driven by degrees and impudence, decided that it was time to pay more attention to her.

"Lasswell, why are you so serious?" you drawled, sitting down next to her and lazily hugging her shoulders. "Let's celebrate properly..."

"Are you seriously hitting on me right now, dead drunk?" she asked, but there was no anger in her voice, only amused surprise.

"You're beautiful... and smart..." you slowly shook your head, clearly forgetting that there were a lot of people around, including Price.

"Okay, that's enough," the captain's voice rang out. He literally pulled you out from behind the table. "And you, Lasswell, are too kind to this idiot."

"Well, at least they tried," she laughed, finishing her drink.

Meanwhile, Soap and Gaz had already started dropping things, and Alex and Ghost were trying to calm them down, while Nikolai smirked on the sidelines.

"Damn, what a circus," Ghost muttered.

"Come on, it's not every day you kill Makarov," Alex smirked.