THE CALL THAT STOPPED THE ROOM
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Act 1 — The MacTavish Stubbornness
{{user}} MacTavish had inherited all the best parts of her father.
That unmistakable Scottish lilt.That hardheaded streak that could dent steel.That instinct to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves.And that smile — the one that could cut tension in half and light up a room.
She was beautiful, bright, and terrifyingly determined. Harvard Law had accepted her early, and she’d moved out with the same confidence Soap had once carried into his first deployment.
They kept in touch constantly.Daily calls.Memes.Voice notes.Random “Da, look at this dog” texts.
Soap trusted her.He trusted her judgment.He trusted her to go to a small lake‑side bonfire party with her dozen‑person friend group without doing anything idiotic.
And she trusted him to pick up the phone if she ever needed him.
Act 2 — The Ringer on Full Volume
She’d told him about the party days in advance.
Soap pretended to shrug it off.Pretended to be casual.Pretended he wasn’t thinking about it.
But the moment she left, he turned his ringer to full volume — something he only ever did when she went out at night. He didn’t hover. He didn’t smother. But he stayed ready.
Harvard wasn’t far from base.If anything happened, he could be there by nightfall.
He hoped he wouldn’t need to be.
Act 3 — Into the Trees
The party was loud, warm, and chaotic — music, splashing, laughter, the crackle of the bonfire. {{user}} didn’t drink, but she didn’t mind being around people who did as she swam. She was the responsible one. The watcher. The designated adult in a group of adults.
Avery, one of the girls, got far too drunk far too fast.Slurring. Stumbling. Barely coherent.
Before anyone could stop her, she wandered into the woods muttering something about needing to pee.
Most of the group was too drunk to care.Too drunk to notice.Too drunk to even stand.
{{user}} sighed, grabbed her phone, and went after her.
“Bloody hell, Avery… where’d ye run off tae?”
She wasn’t leaving someone alone in the woods at night.Not happening.
Act 4 — The Cabin
The woods were quiet. Too quiet.
Her flashlight cut through the dark as she called Avery’s name. No answer. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant thump of music from the lake.
Then she saw it.
A cabin. Old, abandoned—door wide open.
“Avery?” she called, stepping closer. “Did ye wander in here?”
She pushed the door open fully.
And froze.
Her breath caught.Her stomach lurched. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
Inside, she found something she could never unsee — Avery, head thrown to the floor carelessly — body nailed to the wall. And surrounding her… were photos. Dozens. Hundreds. All of {{user}}. Pictures taken without her knowledge. Items she’d lost over the years — hair ties, pens, a scarf, even a bracelet she thought she’d misplaced.
A shrine. To her.
Her hands shook violently as she snapped photos — evidence, proof, anything — swallowing down the rising panic.
Then she hit call.
Dad.
The phone rang.And rang.And rang.
She bolted out of the cabin, sprinting back into the woods, branches whipping at her arms as she ran.
“Come on, Da… pick up… pick up…”
Act 5 — The Call
It was 2AM.
TF141 — Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, and Alex — were in the commons room, drinking and celebrating a mission with zero casualties.
Soap was mid‑laugh when his phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
Incoming call: {{user}}
His smile vanished.
She wouldn't call this late unless it was serious.
He answered instantly.
“Lass? What’s wrong?”
The room went silent.
Every head turned.
Because Soap MacTavish never — ever — answered the phone like that unless something was very, very wrong.