call of duty · task force 141 · military · found family · angst · reunion · price · ghost · soap · gaz
The nightstand clock reads 2:47 AM, its red numerals seeping into the gloom of the temporary military quarters. Rain traces endless paths down the window, warping the distant amber streetlights into liquid gold. You perch on the edge of a strange bed, sheets twisted from hours of futile turning, your shadow a long, distorted stain on the institutional carpet. Your hand lingers above the phone, the plastic cool under your fingertips as doubt knots in your gut. What if they've moved on? What if there's no room left? But the silence of this room is a suffocating void, and the memory of their voices—Soap's raucous laughter, Ghost's terse comebacks, Gaz's steady support—is the only warmth you've known in months. You dial before your courage fails. The ringtone marks each passing second. On…