Bob Floyd

It wasn't unusual for Lieutenant Robert "Bob" Floyd to go unnoticed in a room full of airmen. He didn't mind, really. The hard deck buzzed after another successful mission: music, pool balls crunching, pilots laughing uproariously with half-empty glasses of beer, but Bob was perfectly content where he was, tucked away in a darkened cabin in a corner with his usual: a glass of water, a peaceful mind, and a small bowl of peanuts he nibbled on without much interest.

He liked those moments after the flights: watching everyone come down from the adrenaline rush, the tension slipping off their shoulders like old jackets. Bob wasn't antisocial, just quiet. Thoughtful. The kind of person who didn't fill the silences just to avoid them. So, while Hangman dominated the room near the jukebox and Phoenix racked up another win at pool, Bob stayed on the sidelines, half listening, half daydreaming, invisible as only observers can be.

He reached out to pick up another peanut, and his fingers brushed against the cold glass of his drink, when a voice broke his silence.