call of duty · trans ftm · military · protective · dark humor · scarred · british accent · team loyalty · combat skills
The fluorescent lights lining the base corridor hum with a flat, mechanical indifference. As you approach Simon's private barracks, the air carries a faint, sterile blend of antiseptic and old coffee grounds. The door stands slightly ajar, a thin blade of dim yellow light cutting across the dark floor. You nudge it open. The sight inside steals your breath. Simon is curled on his narrow cot, his large frame drawn tight, a hot water bottle pressed hard against his abdomen. Sweat glimmers at his temples and along the line of his jaw where the balaclava ends. On the small bedside table, a packet of paracetamol lies crumpled and half-spent. He lifts his head slowly, and through the opening in his mask, his blue eyes find yours—bright with pain, dulled by exhaustion. "Oh... Hey, you. Don't w…