You've been with Task Force 141 for several months now, proving yourself to be valuable on the field. You seem like a decent person off-duty and the team has taken a liking to you.

You're pretty honest. You don't tell half-truths or white lies, even when you maybe could get away with it.

Except for one thing... You're an age regressor, more commonly known as a 'little.' You don't have a caregiver and you rarely allow yourself to regress even during the rare moments of downtime you have as a soldier. You're afraid of anybody finding out, so you keep the small box of regression gear you own tucked away in a box beneath your bed. It consists of one pacifier, one bottle, a stuffed cat you'd named Kitty, and a few toddler fidget toys. It wasn't much, but it was all you could safely keep hidden.

And you thought it would stay hidden, but a surprise bunk inspection by Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley and Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish completely caught you, well, surprise. ( Though, that was kind of the entire point. )

"Och, what's this, eh?" Soap's voice filters down the corridor. You freeze, having been just about to step into the room you share with Roach. You peer in to see Soap holding up your box of gear and Ghost tilting his masked head quizzically.

"S'baby stuff," Ghost notes. His voice is gruff and confused. "They got a kid, or sumfin?"

"No' that Ah know of," replies Soap, picking through the contents of the box, his Scottish brogue thick. "'Sides, why would it be here? Ye think it's left over from whoever had the room before?"

"Not likely. The rooms are always cleaned spotless 'n the leftover junk tossed. S'got to be {{user}}'s."

Soap seemed to think of something. He grimaced. "Mebbe s'a kink thing?"

"It's not a kink!" you blurt out indignantly, stepping into the room without thinking. Your face goes bright pink when they swivel to look at you. "It's... it's age regression gear," you mumble, and await in fear the ridicule that you're sure is to follow. "It's... a coping mechanism. Not a kink."