There were things in life that even the most elite of soldiers feared.
Ambushes. Malfunctions. The cafeteria's Thursday stew.
But nothing—nothing—compared to laundry day at Base 13.
---
It all started with a smell.
Rina was the first to notice it. She wrinkled her nose as she entered the dorm hallway, holding a basket of neatly folded uniforms.
> "Okay… who left their combat gear in the hall again?"
A suspicious trail of socks led toward Celia's room — or rather, battlefield, judging by the clutter. The door was slightly open, and the faint hum of a washing machine could be heard inside.
Rina sighed, knocking. "Celia? Please tell me you're doing laundry like a normal person this time."
The door slid open to reveal Celia in her standard issue fatigues — except she was wearing goggles and rubber gloves. The washing machine beside her shook violently, making a noise that could only be described as "mechanical screaming."
> "Normal is a matter of perspective!" Celia shouted over the rumbling. "I'm optimizing the wash cycle!"
> "You overloaded it again, didn't you?"
> "Maybe."
A loud BANG echoed through the base. Steam hissed from the machine's vents like a wounded beast.
> "Or maybe not!" Celia quickly added, ducking behind a laundry basket as the lid popped open and launched a sock like a missile.
Rina covered her face. "Celia, that's the third time this month!"
> "In my defense," Celia said proudly, "the last one didn't explode until rinse cycle."
---
Down the hall, Liri and Mira were having their own problems.
Or rather — Liri was having problems, and Mira was watching with the expression of someone mentally preparing to fill out a disaster report.
> "So…," Liri said, staring at the two piles of laundry in front of her, "which one's for whites again?"
> "The one labeled whites," Mira replied.
> "Right, but see — the label fell off, and now they're both just piles."
Mira crossed her arms. "Then you separate them by color."
> "Oh, I did that already! See?" Liri smiled, holding up a bright red sock proudly. "This one goes with all the other red stuff."
> "That's not red," Mira said flatly. "That's… white. Or, it was."
Liri froze, looking at her sock in horror. "Oh no… I think I might've discovered a new color."
> "You discovered pink, Liri."
> "...I invented pink!"
Mira sighed deeply. "You've done enough science for one day."
---
Meanwhile, in the common room, Eira sat on the couch with a cup of coffee and her blanket draped like a cape. She was reading a manual titled 'Proper Detergent Usage for Idiots' — though given the commotion echoing through the halls, it was already too late for everyone involved.
Celia suddenly burst into the room, covered in soap suds, clutching a dripping pile of what used to be uniforms.
> "Minor setback," she announced proudly. "The washer's in critical condition but stable."
> "Translation?" Eira asked, not looking up.
> "It's currently trying to eat my boots."
A loud metallic grinding noise came from the hallway.
> "Correction," Celia added quickly, "it's digesting them."
Eira took a slow sip of her coffee. "You know, for a supposedly elite squad, we're terrible at basic domestic survival."
> "That's what makes us extraordinary," Celia said confidently.
> "No, that's what makes us a safety hazard."
---
Rina arrived moments later with a clipboard and the look of a woman who had given up trying to reason with fate.
> "Alright, team," she began. "Laundry duty is now an official mission. We're doing this together, no shortcuts, no explosions."
Celia raised a hand. "Can't promise the last one."
> "You will promise," Rina snapped. "Mira, you handle sorting. Liri, folding. Eira, drying. Celia—"
> "Field command?"
> "No. You're on detergent control. Minimum involvement."
Celia looked betrayed. "That's discrimination."
> "That's prevention."
---
The squad assembled in the laundry room — an echoing metal chamber that smelled faintly of wet socks and despair. Six industrial washers lined the wall, blinking with little lights that seemed far too judgmental.
Rina pointed like a drill instructor. "Okay. Mira, sort. Eira, prep the dryers. Liri, folding station. Celia, do not touch anything without supervision."
> "Understood!" Celia saluted dramatically.
Rina turned to Mira. "Keep an eye on her."
> "Already planning to," Mira replied.
---
For a few blissful minutes, everything went smoothly. Mira efficiently sorted the uniforms by fabric type and wash temperature, explaining the logic with military precision.
> "Tactical gear goes cold cycle. Underlayers warm. Blankets delicate mode."
Liri hummed a cheerful tune while folding shirts into neat — if slightly asymmetrical — stacks.
Eira monitored the dryers like a seasoned commander, sipping her coffee between rotations.
Even Celia seemed calm, pouring detergent carefully under Rina's supervision.
It almost looked like a normal squad doing a normal chore.
Until Liri spoke.
> "Hey, uh… which detergent is the fabric softener again?"
Rina didn't look up. "The blue bottle."
> "Oh, good! I used the green one."
> "Wait— what green one?"
> "The one with the skull logo."
Everyone froze.
Mira blinked. "That's not detergent. That's industrial solvent."
> "Oh." Liri smiled weakly. "So that's… bad?"
Celia immediately sprang into action. "Don't worry! I can neutralize it with more detergent!"
> "Celia, no—"
It was too late.
A frothy white foam erupted from the washing machine, spilling over the edge like a tidal wave of bubbles. The machine groaned, lights flickering wildly, as if pleading for mercy.
Eira stood up slowly, her coffee cup trembling. "I told you all this would happen."
> "No one listens to the prophet until the apocalypse," Mira muttered.
---
Within minutes, the laundry room was unrecognizable. Foam everywhere. The walls gleamed with soap, the floor had turned into a slippery battlefield, and the air smelled faintly of mint and despair.
Liri tried to scoop bubbles into a bucket. "It's multiplying!"
> "That's foam," Mira corrected.
> "It's alive!" Liri insisted, as a large clump slid past her foot.
Rina was shouting orders over the chaos. "Eira, shut off the power! Celia, stop adding things!"
> "I'm not adding— I'm stabilizing!"
> "With what?"
> "More detergent!"
Rina screamed into her hands. "I'm filing for transfer."
---
The door burst open again — a young logistics officer stood there, eyes wide at the flood of foam spilling into the hallway.
> "What— what happened here?!"
Eira took another calm sip of coffee. "Laundry day."
The officer blinked, looked at the floor, looked at the squad, then just nodded slowly. "Understood." He closed the door and left.
---
Eventually, after several hours, the chaos subsided. The foam dried. The machines were still standing — barely. Celia was banned from "all appliances capable of explosions" until further notice.
Rina sat on the floor, exhausted, surrounded by half-folded uniforms and damp socks.
> "This… was supposed to be simple," she groaned.
> "In our defense," Liri said cheerfully, "it was entertaining."
> "You turned a washing machine into a WMD," Mira said flatly.
> "Washing Machine of Doom," Liri corrected proudly.
Celia laughed, wringing soap from her hair. "We could market that."
> "No one would buy it," Eira replied.
> "You'd be surprised," Celia said. "Command's standards are low."
---
That evening, Base 13 was strangely quiet. The girls lounged around the common room, surrounded by folded uniforms that still smelled faintly like minty disaster.
Eira was dozing off on the couch. Mira was reading. Rina was updating the duty log with a look of defeat.
Celia leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, looking oddly content.
> "You know," she said, "we may not have finished the mission perfectly… but we finished it together."
Rina stared at her. "You mean we survived it together."
> "Exactly!" Celia beamed. "Teamwork."
Liri raised her hand. "Does teamwork also cover accidentally creating a sentient foam monster?"
> "...We don't talk about that," Rina said quickly.
> "Oh, I named it Bubbly," Liri added cheerfully. "He's probably still under the dryer."
Eira opened one eye. "If it moves, I'm burning the whole room."
---
The base lights flickered as night settled in. Somewhere deep in the laundry room, a faint pop echoed — followed by a soft bubbly noise.
Mira sighed without looking up. "It's still alive."
Rina groaned. "I'm pretending I didn't hear that."
Celia grinned, stretching. "Mission accomplished!"
> "What part of this feels like an accomplishment to you?" Rina asked tiredly.
> "The part where no one died," Celia replied proudly.
Eira raised her coffee mug. "Yet."
---
The night ended with the five of them sitting quietly, surrounded by chaos, sipping instant cocoa like veterans after a war.
Rina looked around at her squad — the most dysfunctional, unpredictable, ridiculous team in the entire base — and despite everything, she smiled.
> "You're all insane," she said softly.
> "We're extraordinary," Celia corrected.
Everyone groaned.
But somehow, it felt right.
To be continued on Chapter 3: Tactical Tea Time