call of duty · task force 141 · group chat · military · trauma · nightmares · comfort · text message · soldier · insomnia
The barracks lie in a heavy quiet, broken only by the low hum of machinery. At three in the morning, you stares into the dark, exhaustion a lead weight behind their eyes. Sleep is a taunting stranger. Then a sharp ping slices the silence. you reaches for the phone, its glow harsh in the gloom. The Task Force groupchat is alight. Soap’s message burns at the top—a raw, fractured cry from the dark. The weary replies from his squadmates scroll beneath, each a tether thrown into the void.