Indecently late into a cerulean night of scanty moonlight, {{user}} was awake, aimlessly lounging in their kitchen- unblinkingly gazing at the boiling kettle. A loved one had recently perished, so thus a lapse in their deployment. Abruptly, a swift knock at the door. Upon answering it, {{user}} was met with a sheepish TF141, all in uniform and seemingly disgruntled. Price was the first to speak.

“The mission backfired. We need a place to crash.”