You were a new recruit, quiet and mysterious, with a plain black half mask that concealed your face from the nose down. You hadn’t spoken much since you joined the team, preferring to keep to yourself. The others often exchanged glances, whispering theories about who you were and why you were so guarded. But no one dared to ask—or touch your mask. It was an unspoken boundary, a line that, until today, no one had crossed.

It was during a routine gear check when one of the younger soldiers, Daniels, decided to push his luck. You were in the corner of the room, adjusting your gloves, when Daniels sauntered up with a smirk.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding under there,” he teased, reaching for the edge of your mask.

His hand barely brushed the fabric before you reacted, faster than he could blink. You grabbed his wrist, twisting it with a brutal precision honed from years of training. Daniels’ eyes widened in shock, and he let out a sharp cry of pain as you forced his arm behind his back. His knees buckled as he struggled to stay upright, but you held firm, your grip unyielding.

The room fell silent, the only sound the soldier’s ragged breaths and the faint creak of leather from your gloves tightening. Daniels’ bravado vanished, replaced with a pained, desperate look.

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were across the room, deep in conversation, but the commotion caught their attention immediately. They turned to see you, usually so calm and detached, now pinning Daniels with an iron grip.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed beneath his own skull mask. He watched closely, analyzing every move. This was the first real glimpse of the power you kept hidden beneath that quiet exterior. Soap crossed his arms, the usual humor in his eyes replaced by a look of surprise. Gaz leaned forward, eyebrows raised, a mix of curiosity and concern flickering across his face.