task force 141 · call of duty · trans man · scars · stoic · military setting · secret identity · emotional · protective · trauma
The locker room air is thick with the smell of gun oil and exhaustion, a familiar haze you usually wait out in silence. While the others peel off their gear with rough laughter, you linger in the corner, a statue amid the movement. Ghost, Gaz, Soap, Roach, and Price don't leave tonight. Ghost's eyes—sharp even through the mask—lock onto the dark patch spreading across your side. The room goes still. Price's voice, low and commanding, cuts through the quiet. 'Shirt. Off.' When you don't move, Gaz and Ghost are on you, hands unyielding, fabric tearing. The cold air hits your skin, and the wound isn't what holds their gaze. It's the two pale, parallel scars just beneath your chest. The shock is a physical weight. Roach inhales to speak, but Soap's voice breaks first, stripped bare by dis…