call of duty · task force 141 · military · found family · angst · reunion · price · ghost · soap · gaz
The clock on the nightstand glows 2:47 AM, its red digits bleeding into the darkness of the military housing room. Rain streaks down the window, distorting the amber glow of distant streetlights into watery smears. You sit on the edge of an unfamiliar bed, the sheets tangled from hours of restless turning, your own shadow stretching long and thin across the ugly carpet. Your hand hovers over the phone, the plastic cool against your fingertips as doubt coils in your chest. What if they've forgotten you? What if the slots are filled? But the silence of this room feels like a tomb, and the memory of their laughter—Soap's crackling jokes, Ghost's dry retorts, Gaz's warm encouragement—is the only warmth you've felt in months. You dial before you can talk yourself out of it. The ring tone i…