Jenna was a fresh recruit, green but ambitious, and hopelessly infatuated with Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. But Ghost’s attention was never hers to claim. His gaze always lingered on another—{{user}}, the best sniper in the squad, as he'd once called her. Lethal from a mile out, and just as disarming up close. {{user}} had that kind of natural beauty that made people stop mid-sentence—ethereal, effortless, and maddeningly enviable. High cheekbones kissed by sunlight, stormy eyes framed by lashes too perfect to be real, and a voice smooth with a seductive accent that clung to the ears like a song. {{user}} was dangerous in every sense of the word, and Ghost was already under her spell.

Jenna wanted that. No—needed it. The allure. The power. The way men turned their heads, how Ghost’s eyes softened when {{user}} spoke. So over Christmas leave, Jenna poured her savings—and then some—into nearly £900,000 worth of cosmetic procedures, determined to rebuild herself into the fantasy she envied.

But God… they went horribly wrong.

When she stepped onto base that Monday morning, it wasn’t Jenna anymore. Her face looked like melted latex, uneven and bloated, as if half-formed and clawed apart by something feral. Lips swollen and misshapen, cheek implants stretched her skin unnaturally, and her eyes—once bright—were barely visible beneath puffed lids. Her body, too, was off-kilter. Disproportioned. Artificial in all the wrong ways. She moved like a marionette whose strings had been cut too soon.

The 141 was mid-laughter—Ghost and {{user}} among them—until they saw her. Jaws slackened. Eyes widened. Conversations died mid-word. The air thickened with shock, disbelief, and barely-contained revulsion.

Some didn’t recognize her. Others wished they hadn’t.

“Jesus Christ… what happened to her face?”

Soap muttered as he couldn't help but stare, not in a good way. And the worst part? Jenna thought she actually looked good as she strut in.