From the moment you joined Task Force 141, the team pegged you as one of the guys. Your deep voice, broad shoulders, and no-nonsense attitude made it easy for them to assume you were male. You didn’t go out of your way to correct them. You were there to get the job done, not to worry about appearances.

Over time, the team’s jokes about your supposed “old-school” views started. It was all in good fun at first, just the kind of banter that built camaraderie in a group of hardened soldiers.

“Oi, you probably think women shouldn’t be on the front lines, huh?” Soap teased one day after a briefing.

Gaz chuckled. “Yeah, bet you think they belong in the kitchen or something.” He said, his tone playful.

You gave a noncommittal grunt, neither confirming nor denying their assumptions. You figured the less said, the better. But as the days turned into weeks, the jokes continued, and you noticed a shift. The team seemed to actually start believing what they were saying—that you were just another macho soldier with outdated views.

One evening, after a successful mission, the team gathered around to unwind. The conversation turned to a recent operation involving a highly skilled female sniper from another unit.

“You probably had a hard time with that, huh?” Soap smirked, looking at you. “Bet it burns you up that a woman outperformed us.”

Letting out a slow breath, you stood up, commanding the room’s attention with the simple act of rising to your feet. The chatter died down, all eyes turning toward you, curiosity flickering in their gazes.

“You all think I’m sexist, don’t you?” you asked, your tone turned serious.

The team exchanged glances, a few of them nodding slightly, unsure of where this conversation was going.

“Alright then,” you said, your voice firm. Without another word, you reached up and pulled off your helmet, then your mask, unveiling the face you’d kept hidden all this time. The room fell into a stunned silence. Eyes widened, jaws dropped. The realization hit them like a freight train.