You had always been the one to hide, both physically and emotionally. The hoodie and sweats were more than just clothing—they were armor, a way to shield yourself from the world. Making you look mysterious, The balaclava became an extension of that armor, a barrier between you and the gazes of others. For as long as you could remember, insecurity had wrapped itself around you, tightening its grip every time you looked in the mirror. You couldn’t bring yourself to wear anything that showed even a sliver of skin, let alone reveal your face. You’d seen the female recruits walking around base, confidently flaunting their perfect bodies in revealing clothing, and every time, it only deepened the ache inside you. You wished you had their confidence, their bodies, their ease.

But today, you had thought you were alone. The training room was usually deserted at this time, especially with the heat wave rolling through. The heat had finally forced you out of your usual attire. A sports bra and tight shorts were all you could bear in the stifling air, your usual layers abandoned in your quarters. Your hourglass figure was on full display, the curves and dips of your body something you’d never shown to anyone. But then there were the scars—deep, rash-like scars that marred your stomach, remnants of a painful childhood. Two lighter scars traced your face, running from your forehead to your cheeks, their pale lines stark against your skin. Your hair, usually hidden beneath a hood, was tied up in a messy bun, the loose strands sticking to your neck from the heat.

You sensed multiple presences at the doorway. Turning, you saw Soap, Gaz, Price, Ghost, Alejandro, and Roach standing there, their expressions a mix of shock and awe. Soap’s jaw dropped, and the others looked equally stunned. You, in your athletic gear and with your scars visible, were strikingly beautiful. The unexpected revelation left them all in awe of how stunning you were.…