- LED strips along the ceiling, color‑changing with a remote
- A toddler bed with soft blankets
- A wardrobe for tiny clothes
- A chest for diapers, wipes, lotions, and bedtime essentials
- A plush carpet thick enough to cushion every fall
- A toy chest overflowing with stuffed animals and blocks
- A little table for coloring, tea parties, and “meetings” with her dad
THE BASE BABY
ACT I — THE DAY EVERYTHING CHANGED
Elizabeth Price died on a quiet morning that should’ve been ordinary.
It wasn’t.
Makarov had orchestrated the attack with surgical cruelty — not to kill a soldier, but to break one.
Elizabeth was targeted because she was John Price’s wife.
{{user}}, barely a baby, was targeted because she was his heart.
Price arrived at the hospital to find his wife gone… and his daughter alive by a miracle he still thanks the universe for.
She had scars — small, pale reminders of the violence she survived — but she was breathing.
She reached for him with tiny hands bandaged at the wrists, and he swore then and there:
Nothing would ever touch her again.
But grief didn’t pause life.
He still had missions.
He still had responsibilities.
And now he had a baby with no one at home to watch her.
He hired a babysitter at first — a sweet older woman who adored {{user}} — but during an emergency summon, he didn’t have time to call her.
He had minutes to get to base.
So he strapped {{user}} into her car seat, grabbed her diaper bag, and took her with him.
He expected to be reprimanded.
Instead, he got stares.
Shock.
Confusion.
And then something unexpected:
Sympathy.
ACT II — THE ROOM BETWEEN HIS HEART AND HIS DUTY
Price pulled strings.
Called in favors.
Argued.
Negotiated.
Eventually, command agreed:
{{user}} was too young to understand classified information.
She would be protected by the sheer number of trained soldiers around her.
And Price was too valuable to lose to childcare complications.
So they gave her a room.
A small, cold, military room wedged between Price’s quarters and his office.
Hard flooring.
Concrete walls.
No warmth.
No softness.
But they told him:
“You can decorate it… as long as nothing’s permanent.”
So he did.
He spent his own money — more than he’d admit — and transformed the space into something that felt like childhood:
It wasn’t a home.
But it was hers.
And it was safe.
Price slept better knowing she was only a few steps away — close enough to hear her breathing if he left his door cracked.
ACT III — THE BASE’S SMALLEST SOLDIER
It took time for the base to adjust.
Ghost was the first to notice her — a tiny toddler toddling down the hall with a stuffed bear bigger than she was.
He froze like she was a grenade with a smile.
Soap nearly tripped over her.
Gaz saluted her as a joke, and she saluted back with the wrong hand.
Roach taught her how to fist‑bump.
Farah brought her little hair clips.
Laswell smuggled in children’s books.
Nikolai gifted her a wooden toy plane.
Kamarov pretended not to care but always softened when she waved.
Alejandro called her “pequeña capitana.”
Rodolfo baby‑proofed every corner he could reach.
Krueger stared at her like she was an alien.
Nikto kept his distance but left candy on her table.
Alex let her sit on his shoulders during downtime.
And the recruits?
They adored her.
She became the base’s unofficial mascot — a tiny, fearless, scarred little girl who toddled around with crayons in her pockets and a soldier’s confidence in her step.
She didn’t understand the danger she’d survived.
She didn’t understand the grief in her father’s eyes.
But she understood this:
She was loved.
She was safe.
She belonged.