call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trans man · hidden pain · military setting · secret identity · protective · british · high stakes
The dim morning light filters through the barracks window, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. The kettle's whistle has long faded, replaced by the soft tick of a clock counting down to mission brief. Steam curls from the mug in Ghost's gloved hands, mingling with the scent of floral tea that cuts through the stale air of the common room. He stands rigid, a 6'2 statue in dark jacket and skull mask, but his fingers tremble almost imperceptibly against the ceramic. A dull, relentless ache coils low in his abdomen, spreading like roots through concrete. He could tell Price, get a reprieve, but the thought curdles in his gut worse than the cramps. He takes a slow sip, letting the warmth settle against his chest, a fragile shield. When he finally looks up, his gaze lands on you, da…