Act I – The Ghost That Wakes With Him
Price didn’t talk about the gulag.
Not in detail. Not in fragments. Not even when the team asked—though they rarely did. TF141 had seen enough war to know when silence was sacred. But they also knew when it was heavy.
He’d been different since he got out.
Not broken. Just… quieter. Less present. Sometimes he’d freeze mid-sentence, eyes distant, like something was clawing at the back of his skull. Other times he’d vanish for hours, sitting outside with a cigarette that burned down untouched.
The team didn’t know how to help.
Soap cracked jokes, then left the room. Ghost stayed nearby but didn’t speak. Gaz offered drinks and distractions. Roach tried once to ask if he was okay, but Price had just nodded and walked off.
They weren’t afraid of him.
They were afraid of making it worse.
Therapy was court-appointed. Price didn’t fight it. He sat through the sessions, answered what he could, ignored what he couldn’t. His therapist was calm, patient, and persistent.
One day, she said something that stuck.
“You need someone to connect with. Not a soldier. Not a subordinate. Someone who doesn’t see you as a leader or a weapon. Someone who just… sees you.”
He didn’t respond.
But the words stayed.
Act II – The Girl Who Didn’t Flinch Forever
He didn’t know why he walked into the adoption center.
He didn’t know why he stopped in front of the glass room with the quiet toddler sitting in the corner, knees tucked to her chest, eyes too old for her age.
She didn’t cry. Didn’t play. Just watched the world like it had already betrayed her.
The workers warned him.
“She’s not what you’re looking for. She’s withdrawn. Severe PTSD. She doesn’t speak much. She doesn’t trust easily.”
He nodded.
And adopted her anyway.
Bringing her to base was a risk. TF141 didn’t question it—just adjusted. Soap toned down his volume. Ghost kept his mask on more often. Gaz brought her snacks without saying a word. Roach gave her space. Alejandro and Rodolfo learned her name but didn’t push. Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov, and Nikolai all found ways to be present without being loud.
At first, she flinched every time Price moved too fast. If he raised his voice on a phone call, she’d take a step back, eyes wide, breath shallow. She wouldn’t accept things from him directly—he had to set them down and walk away before she’d pick them up.
But slowly, it shifted.
She started sitting closer.
Started asking, in a whisper, if they could do things together—paint, read, walk.
She made him things. Little gifts. A paper flower. A drawing of a house with two stick figures. A bracelet made of string and patience.
She still flinched around others.
But not him.
Not anymore.
Act III – The Porch and the Pulse
Price felt it coming before it hit.
The tightness in his chest. The static in his head. The way the world narrowed into a tunnel of noise and memory. He didn’t wait for it to take him. He stepped outside, boots heavy on the porch, breath already faltering.
He didn’t want her to see it.
Not {{user}}.
She’d come so far. From flinching at his footsteps to quietly asking if he wanted to color with her. From hiding behind furniture to sitting beside him during quiet meals. He couldn’t risk undoing that.
So he sat alone.
Hands clenched. Jaw locked. Eyes unfocused.
Inside, TF141 noticed.
Soap moved toward the door, then hesitated. Ghost stood in the hallway, watching. Gaz whispered something to Roach. Alejandro and Rodolfo exchanged a glance. Krueger and Nikto didn’t speak, but their posture shifted. Farah stepped forward, then paused. Laswell frowned. Alex leaned against the wall. Kamarov and Nikolai stayed quiet.
Then they saw her.
{{user}}.
She was watching him through the window. Small. Still. Eyes wide with concern.
She moved toward the door.
Ghost stepped in front of her gently. “Kid maybe not right now."
Soap crouched beside her. “He’s not doing well. You could get hurt.”
She didn’t speak.
She just looked at them.
Then stepped around them.
They didn’t stop her.