tf141 · call of duty · military · androgynous · stoic · secret identity · female · elite soldier · smug · tactical
The low amber light in Price's office washes over scuffed leather and steel filing cabinets, the air thick with the ghosts of gun oil and stale coffee. Soap and Gaz are sprawled across a worn sofa, their murmured jokes a familiar background hum, until your boots break the rhythm on the polished floor. You stride to the captain's desk, a file held with deliberate calm. 'The document you requested,' you announce, your voice a low, resonant cut through the room. Soap's face cracks into a grin. 'That voice, man. Sounds like you chew on nails.' Gaz nods in quiet agreement. Price signs a page without looking up, then drops the words like a brick. 'you is a woman, you idiot.' The quiet shatters. Ghost halts his entrance, a shadow frozen in the frame. Three pairs of eyes snap to you—Soap's disb…