LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 76: soap
The world swam back into focus, not with the harsh clarity of a sniper scope, but with a fuzzy, disorienting sort of bloom. My head throbbed, not from a flashbang, but from something…different. I blinked, trying to get my bearings. I was lying on the floor of my shitty little London flat, that much was clear. The same chipped paint, the same pile of unwashed laundry in the corner. But…something was off.
I pushed myself up, wincing at the unfamiliar sensation in my chest. It wasn't the usual ache of a long night on patrol, it was…well, it felt like I was wearing a very uncomfortable pair of…ballistic vests? Except these were soft, and…round. A wave of nausea hit me, and I stumbled to the mirror, bracing myself against the wall.
What stared back at me wasn't John "Soap" MacTavish. It was…a girl.
A girl with my face, yes, but softer, somehow. The harsh lines of my jaw were now more delicate, my stubble replaced by smooth skin. My short, practical military haircut was…longer, cascading down my shoulders in a messy, dark brown. And the eyes, the same intense blue, were framed by ridiculously long lashes.
My hand flew to my chest, feeling the unfamiliar curves beneath my threadbare t-shirt. Panic flared, hot and sharp. This wasn't some battlefield hallucination. This wasn't a bad dream. This was real.
I checked myself in the mirror again. I was definitely a girl. This new form, this…it was me, but not me. It was like the universe had decided to play the cruellest joke it could think up. A month. That's what the panicked thought in the back of my head said. I was cursed to be a girl for a month. What in God's name was I going to do?
The first few days were a blur of confusion and utter dread. I tried to understand what the hell had happened. One minute I was training, the next I was…this. I searched the internet for answers – "sudden gender change," "spontaneous sex change," "curse of the transfixed gender" - but nothing made any sense. The internet, usually a source of endless information, was utterly useless for this.
My military instincts kicked in, though. I needed to adapt. First, the clothing. My wardrobe was useless, filled with practical, baggy things that now hung off me like sad sacks. I reluctantly ventured out, a ball of anxiety in my chest. The stares were unnerving, these weren't the looks from a recon mission. I bought a few cheap clothes, feeling utterly exposed and ridiculous in the process. Jeans that fit my new curves, a couple of plain t-shirts, and a bulky hoodie that became my security blanket. I could not believe i am actually doing this.
Next came the logistical nightmare. I had to learn to walk without the usual swagger I'd developed over years. Getting used to my new center of gravity was like learning to walk all over again. I spent hours in my flat, practicing simple things like sitting, standing, and walking around without tripping over my own feet.
Then there were the…biological realities. I refused to even think of it. The thought of my monthly visits was giving me a panic attack. The only way to survive the next 25 days was to not think about it.
The worst part, though, wasn't the physical changes. It was the constant feeling of being out of place in my own skin. I felt like an imposter, trapped in a body that wasn't mine, wasn't me. I missed the familiar weight of my weapons, the comfortable anonymity of my uniform. I missed the camaraderie of the squad, the unspoken understanding between us. I missed the feeling of control, that knowledge that I could handle anything thrown my way.
I tried to maintain my routines. I still did my daily workouts, but it felt different. I was weaker, slower, and the exercises felt…wrong. I couldn't push myself the way I used to. The rage I usually channeled into training was now mixed with a strange, unfamiliar frustration.
The world felt different, too. Before, I could walk anywhere without being noticed, just another soldier in the crowd. Now, every glance, every catcall, felt like an invasion. I found myself shrinking away, avoiding eye contact. I became hyperaware of my surroundings, every movement, every sound magnified.
I spent most of my time cooped up in my flat, a prisoner of my own body. I'd spend hours staring at the mirror, trying to understand what it was I was seeing. Was it really me? Or was it some cruel trick of the light, played on a mind that was already stretched thin?
One particularly lonely evening, I picked up my old journal. Years of missions, of losses, of victories, were recorded in its worn pages. I started writing, the words pouring out of me like a dam had burst. I wrote about the confusion, the fear, the utter weirdness of this whole situation. I wrote about missing myself, the man I used to be. I wrote about the anger I felt at some unknown entity that had done this to me.
As the days ticked by, a strange thing started to happen. I started to…adapt. It wasn't that I was accepting this new reality, but I was learning to navigate it. I discovered little things, like the way my hair felt when the wind blew through it, or the particular comfort of a soft sweater. I started to notice things I never would have before – the vibrant colors of the city, the laughter of children in the park.
I still felt like I was walking around in someone else's skin, but I was learning to make it my own, however temporary it was. I learned to trust my instincts, to use the same resilience I had on the battlefield to face this bizarre, unexpected challenge.
The days blurred together, a strange mix of frustration and curiosity. I was still Soap, the soldier, the operative, but I was also…something else. Something I couldn't quite understand. I was learning to live in this new form, to navigate the world with a new perspective. I was a stranger in my own life.
When the last day finally arrived, I felt a mix of apprehension and relief. A strange sense of something lost and, weirdly, something gained. Then it hit me. I woke up, as a man in his own body, the same body he has been living in for decades, this time, he was different. More empathetic, more understanding. In this month, he finally understood the struggle of women. The daily struggle, the daily hardships. He now understood it more than any other man. He was Soap, the soldier, but also someone else. Someone better.
The first thing I did was check my military gear and go to the range to relieve some stress and trauma. And then, I went to the pub for a beer. A regular beer with my squad.
The world was back to normal. Or, as normal as it ever gets for someone like me. But I knew that I wasn't quite the same. A strange month, and in the end, it was not just a nightmare but a lesson. A lesson I will take with me to my next mission.