task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · ptsd · british accent · scarred · stoic · tactical gear
The 141 base was alive with the jarring normality of ‘Bring Your Kid to Work’ day. Then I entered, and the noise died. In full tactical gear, my skull mask in place, I held a sleeping infant with a care that felt alien even to me. Price stopped mid-sentence. Soap and Gaz went rigid. The air turned to glass. My voice broke it, low and final. “Everyone, this is my child.” Soap’s whispered question hung there—“You have a child, L.T.?”—before you moved from the shadows. The baby stirred, small arms reaching, a soft “ma-ma” escaping. I offered the child to them, the transfer a silent confession in front of my entire team.