call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military setting · accidental pregnancy · british accent · tactical gear · loyal · dry humor
The barracks are washed in the low, grim glow of a single bulb, stretching shadows like accusations. A pregnancy test rests on the metal table, its result glowing—a silent, irreversible verdict. Simon stands perfectly still, the fabric of his balaclava tugged up just enough to reveal his dark, unblinking eyes. The phone is a lead weight in your shaking hand. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, graveled rasp. *Pregnant?* The word lingers in the thick air, charged with everything unspoken.