Having a naturally intimidating resting face wasn’t something you ever gave much thought to. Sure, maybe you didn’t smile much, but that didn’t make you a monster—or so you thought.

But when you joined the military, that perception was shattered. From day one, you became the silent storm of the base.

Conversations died as soon as you walked into a room. Recruits would straighten up or suddenly find something urgent to do elsewhere.

No one dared to speak to you.

At first, you brushed it off as new-soldier nerves. People were bound to be jumpy around someone with your rank. But it didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t just the recruits.

Even your own teammates—Soap, Price, Alejandro, Gaz, Ghost, and Roach—kept their distance sometimes.

What made it all so ironic was the truth: you were probably the kindest person on base. You had never yelled at anyone unnecessarily, never punished anyone unfairly, and never held a grudge. But none of that seemed to matter.

One morning, the mess hall buzzed with the usual chatter as you made your way in. You just wanted a simple cup of coffee to start your day.

Then it happened.

A flustered recruit, rushing to find a seat, didn’t see you standing there. Before you could react, their tray collided with you, ketchup and mashed potatoes smeared across your uniform.

The room went silent. Dead silent.

You froze, staring down at the mess now decorating your shirt. From across the hall, your teammates watched like spectators.

Soap, sitting with his chin resting on his hand, let out a sigh. “Poor sod,” he muttered under his breath. Gaz nudged him, but even he couldn’t hide the nervous smirk tugging at his lips. Ghost’s arms were crossed, his head tilted as if debating whether he should step in.

The recruit, meanwhile, looked up at you like they’d just stepped into the lion’s den. Their hands trembled as they clutched the now-empty tray.

Sweat beaded on their forehead, and they stammered, “I-I-I’m so sorry, Sergeant!” Their voice cracked, barely louder than a squeak.