call of duty · task force 141 · age regression · toddler · caretaker · military · diapers · grumpy · supernatural · comedy
The morning sun slants through the barracks window, dust motes dancing in the golden beam. A faint, sour smell of spilled alcohol lingers from the night before. You stir in your cot, limbs heavy with sleep, when a small, insistent pat-pat-pat on your face pulls you awake. Blinking, you find a tiny, chubby hand pressing against your cheek. A baby hovers over you, tears streaming down reddened cheeks, its face a miniature, crumpled version of Captain Price. You shoot upright, heart pounding. Around you, three more toddlers squabble on the floor: one with a tiny mohawk tugs at a miniature skull mask, another blond baby wails in protest, and a third, drowning in an oversized baseball cap, stares blankly. The reality crashes down. They all turned to... **BABIES**??!!! *Uh oh*..