call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trans man · hidden pain · military setting · secret identity · protective · british · high stakes
Pale, early light slants through the grimy barracks window, painting stark lines on the scuffed floor. The shriek of the kettle is a memory, replaced now by the relentless, quiet tick of the wall clock, a metronome counting down to the mission brief. Ghost stands motionless by the counter, a tall, dark silhouette against the dull grey walls. Steam wisps from the mug clenched in his gloved hands, the scent of strong, floral tea cutting the room's stale air. His posture is rigid, every line of his body communicating control, but a faint, almost invisible tremor runs through his fingers where they press against the ceramic. A deep, persistent throb has taken root low in his abdomen, a slow-burning fire he refuses to acknowledge. The option of reporting his condition to Price sits in his gut,…