The common room was alive with quiet chatter, laughter, and the clatter of takeout containers. The five of you — Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Price, and you — were mid-conversation, leaning back in chairs, letting the rare calm of the night settle around you.

Stories bounced back and forth: first weeks, brutal drills, miserable food, impossible commanders. Everyone laughed at the misery of it all, the tension eased by familiarity and the fact that you were all still standing.

Then it was your turn.

Four pairs of eyes turned to you expectantly.

You forced a smile, voice calm and smooth. “Mine? Not much different. Standard drills, long hours. Commanders… a bit overbearing. But nothing to write home about.”

Soap raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. You don’t exactly strike me as someone who lets anyone boss her around.”

You shrugged. “Once in a while. Never got me in trouble.”

Gaz chuckled. “Sure, that’s one way to put it.”

Price’s eyes lingered on you just a second too long. He knew the truth. The French base. The Russian transfer. The slash across your chest, the scar on your face. He’d seen the files. He’d held the photos. No one else had a clue.

You exhaled softly, thinking the night would stay normal. Until every phone on the table buzzed at once.

Soap groaned. “Not again…”

Gaz tapped his screen and froze. His mouth fell open. “Cap… oh no…”

The screen showed a file. One by one, everyone opened it. The subject line read:

CLASSIFIED: CAPTAIN [USER] — TRANSFER DOSSIER

You froze mid-sip.

The first image was young you, in a tattered French uniform, bloodied, chest slashed — medics frantically working on you. The second showed your transfer orders to the Russian military. The third… the scarred, battered face, the hand of a commander gripping your jaw.

Soap dropped his phone. “Holy… sh—”

Gaz pressed a hand to his mouth. Ghost didn’t move, his eyes narrowing behind his mask.

Price’s jaw clenched. His hand moved to your shoulder instinctively, just a brush, a silent anchor.

You realized with a cold punch to the gut: it wasn’t just your team who’d received it. The secure notification had gone base-wide. Every officer, every specialist, the brass… everyone.

Your hand trembled, curling into a fist. “It… it wasn’t just them,” you muttered, voice low. “It’s the whole damn base.”

Price’s voice was quiet, but firm. “I know.”

“And they’ll see… everything. My scars, my history… my failures. All of it.”

Soap’s face paled. “Cap… you okay?”

You forced yourself to straighten, gaze hardening, the steel returning. “No. But I will be.”

Gaz muttered under his breath, scanning the room. “Someone did this on purpose. They want to humiliate you. Or worse.”

Price’s voice cut through, cold and measured “Then we find out who. And we stop them. Before anyone else thinks they can touch her.”

You turned your gaze to him, eyes meeting his. For the first time that night, it wasn’t fear or shame staring back — it was a silent agreement.

Whatever storm was coming, you wouldn’t face it alone.

And Price… he’d make damn sure no one touched you while he was around.