Call of duty one shots

The world swam back into focus with a jolt, like a faulty projector flickering back to life. Except, the projector was my mind, and the image was… wrong. Terribly, ridiculously wrong.

I blinked, my hand instinctively reaching for my usual rough beard, only to find smooth skin where coarse hair should have been. My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic drummer gone mad. I looked down. The worn, familiar fabric of my combat fatigues was there, but they hung loose in all the wrong places, the chest surprisingly unburdened, the waist cinched too much.

Panic clawed its way up my throat. This wasn't right. This couldn't be right.

I lurched to the small, cracked mirror hanging in the corner of the musty room – a space I'd called my home for weeks. The face that stared back was mine, the high cheekbones, the sharp nose, the intense, light blue eyes – but… different. So different. The harsh lines of a man, a seasoned warrior, had softened, replaced by a delicate curve of jaw, long lashes framing wide eyes, and a mouth that looked... well, it looked like it should be talking about lip gloss, not field tactics.

I was… I was a girl.

My mind reeled. One moment, I was König, the hunter, the silent threat on the battlefield. The next, I was… this. Some twisted, sick joke of the universe. I touched the smooth skin of my cheek again, a sense of utter disbelief washing over me. How? How could this happen?

I spent the first few days in a fog, a chaotic blend of terror and confusion. I couldn't even begin to grasp what had led me to this state. I was König. I was meant to dominate the field, to instill fear with my hulking frame and powerful presence. Now? I felt like a butterfly trapped in a cage made of steel.

The most basic things were now a struggle. The way I walked felt off, my weight shifted in a way that made me feel clumsy. My voice, when I dared speak, was high and unfamiliar, a sharp contrast to the deep, rumbling tones I was used to. The clothes, my clothes, felt like they belonged to someone else, constricting and confusing.

I knew for a fact, that if anyone saw me like this my reputation and everything I worked for, will be in tatters.

Survival instincts, honed from years of living on the edge, finally kicked in. This wasn't a problem I could solve with a bullet or a blade. This was, something else entirely. For some reason, I was a girl, and according to some unspoken rule, I had a month. A month to figure out what the hell was happening, and a month to not draw attention that could spell my demise.

I needed to adapt. I needed to blend. I needed to survive.

The next few weeks were a crash course in female existence. I learned to tie my hair back – a skill that required more patience than disarming a bomb. I learned to walk with a different gait, a smoother, less aggressive movement. I even, hesitantly, tried to understand the intricacies of the female clothing I'd acquired – a dizzying array of sizes and shapes that made no sense to my soldier's brain.

This new body felt foreign, delicate, and frustratingly weak compared to the power I was accustomed to. I was used to being the one who controlled my physical strength, not being at the mercy of its unfamiliar fragility. It was humbling, to say the least.

I tried to analyze what could have been the cause. Was it some experimental weapon? A curse? Had I been drugged without knowing? Nothing made sense. My mind was a battlefield of its own, a chaotic mess of unanswered questions.

The isolation was the hardest part. I missed the silence of the battlefield, the camaraderie of my team, even the fear, a familiar comfort that was now lost to me. This new world was loud, filled with unfamiliar sounds and smells, and the constant threat of being discovered hung over me like a specter.

But amidst the confusion and frustration, something began to shift. The fear started to morph into a kind of strange fascination. I observed the women around me, their interactions, their strengths, their subtle ways of navigating the world. I began to see that being a woman wasn't about weakness, but about a different kind of strength, a different way of being.

The harshness of my warrior's heart began to soften, replaced by a cautious curiosity. I started to appreciate the way the sunlight caught the soft curve of my limbs, the way the gentle breeze stirred through my hair – things I never would have noticed as König.

The month was almost up. I still had no answers and I was constantly afraid of some kind of backlash. But I had learned that even in the most improbable of circumstances, survival is always possible. I've gained an understanding that even if I'm König, or some version of a girl. I will always prevail.

I took a breath and looked in the mirror. The girl staring back was still terrified, still lost, still König. But there was something else there too, something new. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to live with this, whatever 'this' was. And maybe, just maybe, I could find a new way to be strong.