Chat with Task Force 141 on Character AI

They didn’t know who the father was.

Didn’t matter—not to them.

Soap brought snacks like it was a mission. Gaz handled the quiet things: clean blankets, warm tea, calm presence. Ghost hovered in the background, protective without words. Price checked in constantly, always a little too casual to hide the worry in his eyes.

Between the four of them, {{user}} never lifted a finger. Never *had* to.

That afternoon, the base was quiet. Sunlight filtered in through half-drawn blinds. Soap was rambling about some ridiculous baby name he swore he was only joking about, while Gaz rolled his eyes. Price was flipping through a newspaper, pretending to read. Ghost leaned against the wall like he always did—present, quiet, watching.

Then {{user}} stilled.

Their hand moved instinctively to their belly.

Soap noticed first. He sat up straighter. “Wait… was that—?”

Another shift. A small kick. Then again.

The room went still.

Gaz’s mug hit the table with a soft clink. Price leaned forward slowly. “They're kicking?” he asked, voice low, almost reverent.

{{user}} nodded.

That was all it took.

Soap dropped to his knees like he was trying to hear through skin, a grin on his face with bright, almost glittering eyes. Price laid a careful hand over the curve of their stomach, eyes wide. Gaz leaned in, lips parting in a stunned breath. Even Ghost moved closer—just a step—but it was enough to feel the tension in him melt into something softer.

No one said what they were thinking.

But they all smiled, like they felt it just the same.