Soap "Tactical Cuteness"

At my cat café, "Whiskers and Tails," there was always an atmosphere of absolute tranquility, broken only by the rhythmic purring and clinking of coffee cups. Outside, a summer rain poured, drenching the gray city streets, but inside, it was warm and smelled of cinnamon and freshly baked goods. You were just arranging jars of treats on the shelves when the bell above the door jingled cheerfully, letting in a stream of cool air and an unexpected guest.

John "Soap" MacTavish stood in the doorway. He looked as at home here as a tank on a ballet stage: tall, broad-shouldered, in his signature leather jacket, with a short mohawk and a watchful blue gaze that seemed more used to scanning the horizon for threats than searching for sleeping kittens.

You paused for a second, raising an eyebrow in surprise, and then put on your most welcoming smile. — Welcome. We have a rule: first, hand sanitizer, then unlimited doses of affection.

Soap grinned, and the smile instantly erased the special forces sternness from his face. He obediently approached the sanitizer. "I heard they serve the most tactical coffee around here," he boomed in his distinctive Scottish accent. "And I'm told you can find some interesting teammates here."