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isabella-kr · 7 months

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Chapter Twelve: Killer

This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.

If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.

This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Army.

Synopsis: No-Face is forced to face the crimes of her past.

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of torture, injuries, blood, human trafficking, assassins, murder and death.

Word Count: 4.1k

Note: I would like to apologise if this chapter feel off, or rushed. I scrapped and rewrote it ten times, at one point even deleting 6k words off the face of the earth.

Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

GIF not mine

The inside of the chopper felt almost like a second home to her. After the many hours she had spent inside the machine, its metallic walls and loudly whirring blades felt more familiar than not. The smell, although having her scrunch up her nose the first time she had entered one, was now almost welcomed; a sense of familiarity.

She easily tuned out the men around her, their gruff voices reaching her ears despite the loudness of the chopper itself; the blades whirring, the radio beeping, stuff rattling on the walls, and even the voices that continued to reach her through her comms. Even through it all, she had managed to tune out everyone and everything around her, too focused on the touch that had lingered on her shoulder.

“You sure you’re alright?” Price’s voice echoed in her head.

He had pulled her aside minutes prior. His hand was on the bend of her elbow, guiding her away from the chopper she was ready to board. He was ever so concerned, an expression she had noticed often on his face, whether it was over something minor, like a soldier breaking a finger, or something major, like a mission gone wrong.

It was as though he was in a constant state of concern and worry.

A part of her felt almost responsible – guilty – as her problems, nay, her mere presence was bound to cause some sort of stress or worry. The way she had watched him go from disinterest and anger he held months ago during those first few weeks she was reintroduced into his life, to concern, and sometimes even happiness, was touching, really. The way he laughed whenever she told him a joke he had most definitely heard a million times before, or how patient he was with her when she, for the first time, experienced something basic that most would have experienced many times in their lives.

His concern was appreciated, but with the guilt of having killed someone from her past, and the many awful memories that were coming back to the surface as a result, she couldn’t help but feel like she did not deserve his concern.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, her lips pulling into a small smile.

That wasn’t a lie. Despite the turmoil she was currently feeling, she was trained to not allow her emotions get in the way. She would be fine, and she would see the mission to completion no matter what.

He raised a brow at her but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, “Alright... but I’ll need you to make me a promise.”

She looked around for a moment, her eyes settling on the bright moonbeams that painted the ground and reflected off the windows. The silver light highlighted the side of his face, his eyes seeming sharper than always, the blues like the ocean on a cold winter’s day.

“Okay,” she whispered, her tongue wetting her slowly drying lips.

He took in a small breath, his eyes searching hers, “The moment it gets too much, I need you to tell me.”

“I’m fine-”

“I understand that,” His voice remained calm, assuring almost, “I understand that you’re alright now, and that you were brought up – trained – not to... show... emotions, but this won’t work in the long run. I need you on your best out there or else you become a liability; to me, yourself, and everyone else.”

She just nodded, her eyes briefly drifting down to the tips of her shiny boots. She played with her fingers, her nails digging into the skin of her thumbs as she cleared her throat and looked back up at him.

“I understand,” she said.

“Good,” he smiled, “For now... you’re fine, yeah?”

She sent him a small nod as her teeth nipped on the inside of her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as his hand raised and formed a fist, and thinking he had wanted to fist-bump their agreement – like she had seen many soldiers do before – she raised hers as well.

Except... his thumb was stuck up.

It wasn’t a fist, but rather a thumbs up. Unsure what to do, with her knuckles pressing against his, she felt slight panic form in her chest. Without thinking much about her next move, she reached forward and enveloped his thumb in her hand.

Her brows furrowed as soon as she did so, silently cursing herself out for embarrassing herself right in front of him, “Um...”

“That works too,” he breathed out a small laugh before pulling his hand away from hers and placing it on her shoulder. He squeezed the area with an assuring touch; firm yet gentle. His thumb brushed along her uniform, lingering for a few seconds before he inevitably let go and bid her a silent goodbye.

It was then that she entered a chopper, her boots stomping hard against the metal, and his touch lingering on her shoulder as though his hand was still squeezing her flesh. As she took a seat on one of the cold benches, she brushed off her shoulder and slipped her usual mask over her face.

“Take that shit off,” An American soldier spat, pulling the night-vision goggles off as the reflection blinded him.

Oh.

She had almost forgotten about the mask’s original purpose to blind people. It wasn’t made only for concealment; it was a weapon just like any other part of her old uniform. All it did was remind her of memories she’d rather forget – of the monstrosities she had committed... ones that were later used against her.

The cold room was dimly lit, the plastic light shade swinging softly despite the lack of breeze; it was stuffy, the feeling of cold and uncomfortable humidity sticking to her bruised skin. Her face hurt; her body hurt. Every bruise ached, and her muscles felt like they were on fire from being forced to sit in one place for hours upon hours at a time.

She had lost track of how long she’s been there. Was it mere days? No, she’s been there far too long. But then, time tends to drag, making minutes feel like hours and hours feel like days. Was it weeks? Possible. Months? Also possible.

The hostiles had tried every possible thing to break her. They beat her, bruising her skin beyond belief. They used atrocious music that made her mad, the irritating tune still stuck on repeat in her head. They bluffed, saying they would hurt her loved ones if she didn’t cooperate, which only confirmed her suspicions they knew nothing about her, or of the people they are up against.

They didn’t break her. She didn’t show emotion. No fear. No anger. Just pure indifference. She had accepted the possibility of death many years ago, and their threats did nothing to her.

They did nothing.

Nothing at all.

Or did they?

She was exhausted. Her eyes burned, and her handcuffed hands shook from hunger and stress she didn’t want to admit to. She was scared, but she refused to show it.

She wanted to go home – to the compound. To the only place she’s ever known to be relatively safe; where she wouldn’t be tortured to death, and where the memories of her mother embraced her in her darkest times.

Her burning eyes drifted to the creaky door as it was opened, and a woman with short blonde hair entered the room with a laptop in her hand. She’s seen her before just standing in the background, gathering information from those who tried to break her.

Two burly men entered behind her, carrying a metal table which they set in front of 3-2-6 before leaving the room and leaving the two women alone. The lady sat on the other side of the table, and carefully placed a bottle of water on the table beside the laptop.

She didn’t open the laptop yet. Instead, she set her arms onto it and looked into her eyes, her striking blues sharp, as if trying to break through her walls with a mere look. It felt as though she was analysing her; her dishevelled hair, her dry and cracked lips, her tired eyes and darkly bruised cheeks.

“My name is Kate Laswell, I’m with the CIA,” she explained, her eyes still boring into hers.

Why was she introducing herself? No one else did.

“You haven’t said much since you got here,” she said, slightly tilting her head to the side, “It’s impressive, really. Most break within a week.”

Silence.

3-2-6 wet her lips, the inside of her mouth feeling like she’s just held cotton between her cheeks for hours on end. She cleared her throat, yet she still said nothing.

Laswell stared at her for a few moments, as if giving her time to reply, but when no sound came, she spoke once more.

“We’ve swept our databases in search for you,” she said, her words clear and voice monotone, “We found nothing. No name. No age. No birth certificate. Legally, you don’t exist... why?”

Still nothing. Not a word left her dried up lips.

“Okay,” Laswell spoke, and opened the laptop.

The clicking of the keyboard filled the room, bouncing off the walls and drowning out the silence that had settled upon them. The CIA agent was quiet, her fingers working diligently on the laptop, eyes focused.

Eventually, she turned the PC her way and clicked on the space bar.

A video played; CCTV footage to be more precise. A group of people at a restaurant smiling, laughing and enjoying themselves. They were happy… until they weren’t.

A silent explosion. The tables were thrown, crashing against the walls. Plates cracked. Glasses smashed.

People fell to the floor. Blood coated the once pristine restaurant, with the rubble of the explosion only causing more and more harm.

She switched to another video. A couple in a park. A colourful blanket was spread beneath them, a large bouquet by the woman’s side as they shared as small, store-bought cake. They, too, looked happy, with smiles from ear to ear and silent laughter escaping her lips.

And then-

Blood.

The man’s body went limp as a bullet travelled through the air and lodged itself straight in in his skull. He doubled over, falling onto the woman’s lap as she screamed bloody murder, his blood coating her white dress.

The video switched to another.

And another. And another. And another.

After what felt like hours, with her eyes stinging more than ever before, and her throat dry as the desert - the bottle of water mocking her as it stayed closed on the table – the videos finally stopped. The screen went dark, and the laptop was promptly shut.

The door opened, and two men with their arms crossed entered the chilly room. One was bald, with eyes striking as he glared at her. He was the leader, that much she could tell as his mere stance revealed the power he held. The man beside him was younger with dirty blond hair, yet the small wrinkles on his face betrayed his age and the years of experience behind him.

They didn’t say anything, the bald one merely sharing a look with Kate Laswell, nodding as they seemingly exchanged a silent conversation.

Laswell cleared her throat and wet her lips, pushing the laptop to the side as she took in a breath, “There’s more where that came from.”

More CCTV footage. More lives lost.

“The question is: why? What’s the end goal?” she asked, her hands crossed on the table, “What are you fighting for?”

What was she fighting for? What was she fighting for?

She never questioned her orders, but her missions were never explained either. She only knew the who and where, the why was irrelevant.

She didn’t need to know the why. The reason for her missions was unimportant, only their completion mattered, and she always made sure she completed hers to the best of her abilities.

But why? Why was she killing all those people?

She shook her head, the exhaustion and pain getting to her. She considered herself tough; mere torture would not break her. But she’s been there for weeks. Her body was weak, and as much as she hated to admit it, her mind was, too.

She was starting to question her orders and everything she had ever known. She was on the right side of history – that’s what was ingrained into her from the very moment she was born. She was one of the ‘good guys’. All those people, the ones who lost their life at her hands, they all deserved it in one way or another, that much she was certain of.

Or was she? Did they deserve such brutal deaths? What was her – their – aim.

There were so many of them. So much blood spilled. She had forgotten about a large percentage of them, her victims not important enough for her to remember their names, their faces, or even the sound of their voices.

All that footage, and she didn’t even know if she was the one who had killed them or someone else. It could have been anyone else from her compound, or perhaps a completely different one entirely. She didn't know.

She didn’t-

“Who’s paying you?” the bald more spoke up yet didn’t move from his spot by the closed door.

Paying?

Her expression must have betrayed her, for Laswell immediately noticed the confusion she was feeling.

“An Assassin for hire, that’s what you are, aren’t you?” she raised her brows, “They give you a task, you do it, you get paid. Now, we’re assuming you have a goal of your own, as that seems to be the case with people in your line of work. So... what is it?”

Silence. Her eyes moved down to the table as she digested their words. Her words were caught in her throat and formed an uncomfortable lump. She took in a breath, no longer knowing what to think.

“What was so important for you to kill all those people?” Laswell’s voice had an edge to it as she pulled out a folder from underneath the laptop and opened it up.

Inside it was a picture of a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and a bright smile on her face. The apples of her cheeks were rosy and lifted, her expression radiating happiness she has seen many times when on missions, yet never in the compound.

“Julie Croft,” Laswell revealed, “A nurse. She was found poisoned at the hospital she worked at. When we looked through the CCTV we found this.”

She pulled out another picture... of her. She remembered the mission like it happened yesterday. Undercover with fake injuries. She poisoned the woman’s coffee, with what exactly she wasn’t certain. But it was a mission well done, and that was all that mattered back then.

“Antonio Torres; a human rights activist. Anna Kowalska; a veterinarian....”

She pulled out pictures after pictures, all of which were her confirmed kills. Women’s rights activists, doctors, teachers, therapists, cleaners, volunteers. Women, men, children. None of whom held what would be considered dangerous, or threatening lifestyles. They were considered harmless citizens, many of which helped and even saved the lives of others. None of them deserved to die, and especially not at her brutal hands.

Her chest felt heavy. She could hear her trainer’s words in her head, telling her to never believe their enemies. Take everything with a grain of salt. Throw your emotions out the window and don’t let them manipulate you. But her weakened state didn’t allow her to not take any of it to heart. She wasn’t killing people who threatened their cause – whatever their cause even was – they were civilians with nothing heavy on their souls. They were innocents and their deaths made no sense.

“This is pointless,” The bald man spoke, his eyes narrowed into a glare, “If we can’t get anything out of her... then the Shadows will.”

The man beside him smiled, pushing himself off the wall and moving to stand behind her chair. His rough hands grabbed onto her shoulders; his touch painful against her already existing bruises.

No-

She didn’t want to... she couldn’t take it anymore. Everything she was taught, everything she was told was pushed to the back of her mind, and as she watched the lady before her stand and walk back towards the door, she suddenly spoke.

“I don’t-” her voice was hoarse and barely audible, but it caused the woman and bald man to stop in their tracks. She cleared her throat, a cough rolling from her chest, “I don’t know.”

The two shared a look. The man behind her let go off her shoulders and Laswell walked back towards her. She opened the bottle of water and with careful hands, pressed it against her lips so she could drink.

“You don’t know what?” the bald man’s words echoed in the room as he stood on the other side of the table, his eyes locking with hers.

The water soothed her throat. With her mouth no longer dry and uncomfortable, she wet her lips and cleared her throat once more, yet her voice was still hoarse, “The... end goal... I don’t know what it was. I don’t ask questions.”

Laswell took a seat before her once again, eyes locking with hers, “You get your tasks, don’t ask questions and get paid. Most clients like to share as little details as possible, so it makes sense,” she nodded thoughtfully.

The bald man behind her agreed, and then took a step forward, “My question is how you managed to get all those clients. You are young... too young for so many assignments.”

“I...” she exhaled sharply, her tired eyes struggling to stay awake after so many hours of ongoing torture, “I don’t get paid. I don’t have clients.”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon them. She could feel the man behind her glaring her down as Laswell and the man shared a look. Ad he opened his mouth to speak, Kate had cut him off. Her eyes held a strange look to them, as though she was reading straight through her.

“Then why?” she questioned.

Her brows knit, “Why don’t I get paid?”

The bald man slammed his hands onto the table, “Why do you kill?”

“I have to,” was what she told them, “I do what they need me to do. If I don’t-”

“They?” Laswell spoke once more, hand held out as if telling the two men to allow her to speak – that she would take care of this. “Who are they?”

“I don’t-”

That was a good question. Truth be told, the people who gave out the orders were never there, their word was simply passed on through someone else. A high-ranking assassin most often, one who now trained the younger generation as they were either too old or had been injured on their last mission. Yet their knowledge and loyalty were not questionable, and they were not killed or given up like many younger assassins had been had they gotten severely injured on their mission.

“I don’t know,” she swallowed thickly.

She was too tired for this. Her body ached too much. Her eyes stung. Her throat hurt. It was all getting too much.

“Don’t lie!” the bald man raised his voice, “Cooperate.”

“I am!” Her voice raised, the frustration of the lack of sleep getting to her.

Her emotions were getting to her for the first time in years.

He continued to push. An accusation after accusation, his voice raising, his hands slamming against the table. Threats rolled off his tongue like an early-day greeting, his eyes holding nothing but hatred and disgust as he yelled and yelled and yelled.

“Who are they?” He yelled for what felt like that thousandth time that evening.

“I don’t know!”

“Then how do you know them?”

“I don’t know!” she panted, her eyes blurry, “I never met them, all their messages are relayed by the others!”

“The others?” he questioned.

“At the compound!” she yelled back, “The mentors; the older ones. They train us, they show us everything we know, and they pass on messages. They choose who gets to progress, they-”

She took in a shaky breath, the others suddenly falling quiet, even the bald man not saying a single word.

Kate Laswell broke the silence, her voice quieter than before, “What’s your name?”

What? What did that have to do with the conversation at hand? She was confused, yet replied nonetheless, hoping the cooperation would cease this verbal torture.

“A-326,” she simply said, brows furrowing when they looked at one another.

She had said it so casually, and it only made them realise how normal that name must have been in her world. How normal it was for her, and perhaps many others, to be dehumanised and used as puppets in a much larger game they didn’t even know they were a part of.

“How long have you had that name?” Laswell asked.

“I was given it when I was born,” she said as though it was obvious.

Laswell inhaled deeply and leaned back on her chair, “Your mother gave birth to you at the... compound, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“And she was born there, too?”

“No,” No-Face shook her head, “She was saved when she was six.”

“Saved?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “They are taken from their families, yes, but... we are told that, ultimately, they are better off at the compound, where they are trained properly.”

Silence.

Why did they grow silent?

They all stared at her as though she had grown another head.

“Jesus Christ,” the man behind her suddenly spoke, which only worsened the tense atmosphere.

Laswell took in a breath, and then muttered, “They’re getting trafficked,” she said, more to herself than to the others in the room, “It’s a trafficking ring. Those kids are getting brainwashed, trained and moulded into killers.”

“This is bigger than we thought,” The bald man muttered, his footsteps echoing as he made his way towards the door, which creaked when he pulled it open.

She could hear his whisper in the background, speaking to the men outside of the room before completely leaving the run-down building. Her tired and burning eyes snapped to the door when two men entered, their eyes less angered and hateful than they had been before when they made her life a living hell.

One of them reached behind her, and as his keys jingled, hie unlocked the handcuffs which held her in place for too many days to count. They had been digging into her skin, leaving inflammation and scabs behind, the pain becoming much more noticeable now that they were off her wrists.

The other grabbed her firmly by the arm and pulled her up to her feet. She wobbled, the world swirling due to the dizziness; she hadn’t stood up in days, and so it was no wonder her body reacted negatively when she was forced to do so. She groaned in pain, but her eyes widened in panic when they began to remove her from the room.

“Where-” she tried to fight them, “Where are you taking me-”

The men didn’t reply, and instead continued to pull her towards the creaky door. She didn’t want to. She was afraid.

Were they going to kill her?

No.

She didn’t tell them enough for them to kill her. They would no doubt want to know more and more and more. Their questions would be never ending. Every awful detail and every memory, they’d want to know it all.

Torture. That was the only option left. There was just more torture to come.

“I’ll cooperate,” she tried to argue, yet her voice came out more begging – more desperate – than she had hoped.

As they pulled her through the threshold, they were stopped in their tracks. The muffled voice of Kate Laswell rang in her ears, and soon enough the rough hands were pulled off her bruised arm, soon replaced with Kate’s much softer hold.

“It’s alright,” she assured her, “We’re going to help you.”

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isabella-kr · 8 months

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I keep seeing people making fun of using growled, hissed, roared, snarled etc in writing and it’s like.

have you never heard someone speak with the gravel in their voice when they get angry? Because that’s what a growl is.

Have you never heard someone sharply whisper something through the thin space of their teeth? Or when your mother sharply told you to stop it in public as a kid when you were acting up/being too loud? Because that’s what a hiss is.

Have you never heard a man get so blackout angry that their voice BOOMS through the house? Because that’s what a roar is.

Have you never seen someone bare their teeth while talking to accentuate their frustration or anger while speaking with a vicious tone? Because that’s what snarling is.

It’s not meant to be a literal animal noise. For the love of god, not every description is literal. I get some people are genuinely confused, but also some of these people are genuinely unimaginative as fuck.

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isabella-kr · 9 months

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The shadow himself is back

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isabella-kr · 9 months

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*pets him with a slightly damp toothbrush*

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isabella-kr · 9 months

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I gift you guys this edit I came across on tik tok

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isabella-kr · 9 months

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when he comes back to you, gently examine for scratches

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isabella-kr · 9 months

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I have something inappropriate to say..

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isabella-kr · 9 months

Text

Chapter Eleven: Who Are You?

This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.

If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.

This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Army.

Synopsis: Bad memories, confusion and mental suffering aren’t a great combination. But No-Face will have to put her emotions aside as another mission quickly approached.

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of a bad childhood, crying.

Word Count: 2.7k

Note: I hope you enjoy!!!

Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

GIF not mine

The gloves felt heavy in her bruised hands. The leather, although smooth, felt like daggers cutting into her skin. The red scythe was almost blinding now; all it reminded her of was the many lives she took in the past; and yet, some part of her couldn’t let it go. She had the chance to be rid of any reminder of her past – to lay rest to her old uniform... but she didn’t.

It was like a part of her was holding onto the strings of her past and refused to let go.

A deep sigh left her lips. Her hands rubbed her face, fingers digging into her eyes. She felt the bench dip slightly beside her. She didn’t have to look at him to know it was Price, the mere scent of his cologne confirmed who he was. He sat there silent, his foot tapping slowly against the floor as he waited for her to speak.

She placed the leather gloves down beside her, dropping them as though they burned her skin.

“I knew her...” she whispered; her voice barely audible as she spoke.

John finally turned to look at her, his eyes holding a speck of compassion in them. His lips were in a tight line on his face as he stayed silent, waiting for her to continue speaking. He wanted to know more, it seemed.

“The girl by the bin... A-402… she was a few years younger than me, got brought in when I was seven... eight?” her voice was quiet, a tinge of softness in them, “She was one of those who got brought in late. Not a baby, not a toddler... a kid with a family she couldn’t forget.”

She paused for a moment, her elbows digging into her knees as her eyes stayed locked on the floor. The room was quiet – silent even – with only the two of them keeping it occupied. She could almost hear her heartbeat, her blood rushing through her veins. Her thoughts were loud in her mind.

A deep ache squeezed her chest.

“You know,” She let out a soft breath, her eyes closing, “She fought so hard when she first came in. She yelled, she punched... she bit one of the guards. I watched her grow up, John, and-” her voice cracked.

No. No-no-no. Why was she suddenly overcome with so much emotion? She barely knew the girl; Spoke to her a few times, trained with her once or twice, sat by her quietly when she cried about missing her parents. She watched her grow up from an innocent child into an Assassin and now-

“I killed her...” she choked on her words and stood up from the bench when she felt her eyes begin to sting.

She faced the wall and wrapped her arms around herself. She was never taught to kill those she worked with. Strangely, the thought never even crossed her mind; she was more worried about failing a mission, or having her partner die during it... not about killing them.

But then again, they weren’t her partners – her allies - anymore. They were her enemies, and she foolishly believed she would never cross paths with any of them ever again.

“No-Face,” His voice was soft – softer that what she was used to. It was still gruff, of course, but he spoke with a quiet and comforting tone as he placed a hand on her shoulder, “It’s alright...”

She shook her head and pushed his hand off her shoulder.

“I understand,” he assured her, “Never took the life of someone you knew, have you?”

“Have you?” her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes as tears gathered on her waterline.

John sighed and with careful hands, he turned her around to face him. Her eyes were closed, but he could see the emotion all over her face. He moved hesitantly – carefully, as to not spook her – and slowly pulled her closer towards him.

It was a silent answer. He has killed someone he’d once known in the past; he knew what it felt like.

He placed a hand on the back of her head as he pressed her cheek against his shoulder, his thumb caressing her hair comfortingly as his other hand went around her upper back. After a few awkward moments, she returned the embrace, and pressed her face further into his shoulder as silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” he told her, “Just let it out, yeah? Can’t hold that sort of thing in.”

She took a few minutes to compose herself in his embrace, her cheeks wet with tears. She couldn’t help but feel shame for breaking apart in front of him; this was not how she was taught to deal with her emotions, and her reaction embarrassed her.

“M’sorry,” she pushed away from him, her hands covering her face.

He grabbed her elbows, his touch gentle as he pulled her hands away from her face. The whites of her eyes were blood-shot, and her face streaked with hot tears. She was in pain, and it was clear she didn’t know how to deal with it.

“Nothin’ to apologise for,” he responded, eyes soft as he looked into hers.

She took in a deep breath and wiped the tears off her cheeks before speaking again, “The man... the one who pushed me out the window...” she sniffled, eyes still glistening from the tears, “... I think I know him.”

John’s eyes narrowed and eyebrows knit together. He gently pulled her along with him as he guided her back to the bench, where they sat facing each other. He looked at her silently, waiting for her to continue.

“His eyes, I- I recognised him.” She explained, “But I can’t... I can’t remember him. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, at the back of my mind, I know exactly who is, but my stupid brain is refusing to let me remember.”

John stayed quiet for a short while, gathering his thoughts. He wet his lips then, and spoke, “Were there people you were close with... back then?”

“Yeah, there were a few,” she sighed, remembering the many faces she was familiar with, “Many I trained with, some I went on missions with. I was close with some of the guards... if you could even call it that. They never spoke.”

He hummed, “Maybe you didn’t work together, maybe-”

“No, it... the way he fought me...” she released a sharp exhale, rubbing her fingers against her wet eyes, “It felt personal.”

He watched her with a gaze full of concern. His eyebrows were furrowed and lips slightly downturned as he listened to her speak. He pressed a finger against his bearded cheek and then scratched it, his nails digging into his dry skin.

“He told me he hated me... John,” she spoke again, “He sounded angrier than you when Laswell forced me onto your team.”

Just as John was about to speak, Thomas rushed into the room with a gravely look on his face.

“Alex and Farrah, sir,” he spoke quickly, “They’re under fire.”

John jumped into action, walking towards the door with No-Face following closely behind him. He stopped just at the threshold of the room and pressed a hand against her shoulder, stopping her.

“You’re staying,” he told her seriously.

“What, why?” she argued, her arms spread at her sides in question.

He sent her a look in response, “You’re in no state-”

“I’m fine!” she argued, raising her voice at him for the first time since she’d known him.

He pointed a warning finger at her, “I’m not asking.”

“Price-”

“That’s an order!”

Silence.

“Southwick stay with her,” he gave one final command before slamming the door, leaving them behind as his footsteps grew fainter and fainter.

She stayed silent and still as her eyes settled on the closed door before her. Her throat was dry, and a sharp, defeated exhale left her lips. Her eyes closed, and she rubbed them for a moment before turning to look at Thomas.

He stood there with sadly furrowed brows, his eyes filled with nothing but compassion. He didn’t say a word, unsure what it was that she needed in that moment. His lips curled into a small smile.

“What do you know about me?” she asked suddenly, catching him off guard.

“Uhh,” he hummed in through, “Only the things you told me. Why?”

“I...” she took in a deep breath, her eyes looking around the room – from the floor to the ceiling, and then back to him, “I’m not supposed to tell you more; it’s all classified.”

“I don’t mind not knowing-”

“I want you to know,” she cut him off, a distraught look on her face, “You’re my closest friend... I want you to know.”

I need you to know.

A part of her was afraid. Some part, deep down inside, believed he would turn his back on her – hate her – for the things she had done in the past. She could see it, a hint of disgust in his eyes, as she told him about all the crimes she had committed. But there was also sympathy, and sorrow when she described what her childhood looked like.

The regime. The training. The cold.

The fear.

His hand was on her shoulder when she was done, a silent promise he did not see her differently. He would not change the way he treated her. He was still her friend – someone she could depend on – and that wasn’t going to change.

Even after hours had passed, and John had returned from the rescue mission with Gaz, Alex and Farah, his eyes still held compassion. He was still digesting everything she had told him, every little detail in his mind like a nightmare.

He sent her a comforting smile whilst they waited for Laswell to arrive, his hand discreetly reaching for hers and giving it a soft squeeze. Alex and Farah sat before them on the uncomfortable chairs, the US Soldier comforting the Commander after everything they had gone through.

Hadir. The captain explained before they had gathered in the dimly lit room. Farah’s brother; he stole the Russian Gas. He betrayed them. He was now a terrorist.

Just as she once had been. Except... he chose that path willingly.

She could feel John’s presence behind them as he stood with his arms crossed, his brain no doubt filled with countless questions. She was tempted to look at him over her shoulder – to see what look he held on his face – but she didn’t. She stayed facing forward, scratching the skin on her thumb.

“My brother always wanted to fight without rules...” Farah spoke solemnly as Gaz approached the group with a hot cup of coffee in his hand. He handed it to her, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly as he sat down on a chair behind her, right beside No-Face, “Now he’s broken all of them.”

The door opened and slammed back shut. “Hadir went North,” Laswell announced, the light of the projector hitting her as she stepped in front of the group, “He was picked up by AQ fighters in the foothills.”

“Voluntarily or by force?” John finally spoke up, taking a step forward, now standing right behind No-Face and Gaz.

Laswell shrugged, “We don’t know.”

There was a pause.

A long and tense pause. They all glanced at the commander.

“I’m sorry, Farah,” Alex spoke, turning his head to look at the soldier beside him.

Laswell took in a sharp breath, “Your brother-”

“Is a terrorist,” Farah stated plainly.

“Is an American asset,” Laswell corrected her, “Who is either with or in terrorist hands.”

Alex stood up from his chair, his hands held out slightly, “Hadir is not with us.” He paused briefly, “Now, he could have killed everyone when he stole the gas, but he chose not to.”

Farah looked up at him with knit brows, “How do you know this?”

He took in a sharp breath, “I was there... trying to stop it.”

Farah stood up then, shaking her head, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We believed it was Al-Qatala,” Alex explained, “We didn’t know it was him.”

“We know now,” Laswell cut in, gaining their attention, “We’re going after him tonight.”

“I’ll come with you,” Farah stated.

Gaz looked up her with a deep frown, “You’ll be hunting your own brother.”

“He is not my brother.” Farah replied, “Not anymore.”

Price and Laswell shared a quick look, seemingly holding a silent discussion. They then separated from the group and held a private conversation regarding the mission. Their tones were hushed, the rest of the team not hearing a word they said.

Thomas and No-Face shared a quick look, Wiz sending her a small smile before they stood up from their chairs. Gaz followed along, joining the small group as they waited for John and Kate to rejoin them and share their plan.

“This is a bad idea, Farah,” Alex told her in a soft tone, his eyes showing nothing but care.

“We take care of our own here,” she replied.

“Not usually what that means...” Kyle spoke up, his eyes trained on the commander.

Price and Laswell returned then.

“It does here. I want Farah on the team,” John told Laswell, his tone determined, “I’m not asking.”

Kate looked from John to Farah, her gaze briefly settling on No-Face before she nodded, “Fine,” she agreed, “You have execute authority. All of you.”

Laswell released a short sigh and turned, grabbing a small remote and standing to the side, so the projection of a map was undisturbed on a white wall. They all sat back down, this time with John joining them as he sat beside No-Face, focused as the Station Chief briefed them in on the mission.

“Imagery confirms Hadir was in possession of the remaining stolen gas when he made direct contact with Al-Qatala's most brutal enforcer, the Butcher.” Laswell explained, “Surveillance tracked their vehicles to a residential complex in the Aqrus Mountains, believed to be the Wolf’s stronghold. Alex and Farah will hold orbit for secondary clearance, while Bravo Six leads the assault force to locate the chemical agents, retrieve Hadir, and kill The Wolf.”

The were a couple sighs and a few slow blinks before they stood back up. They shared quick glances, and wordlessly dispersed to prepare for the upcoming mission.

“No-Face,” Laswell’s voice stopped her before she could leave the room. The chief gestured for her to come back, and she did so without a question.

“Kate,” she spoke, giving the woman a small nod.

Laswell took in a breath, waiting for the others to completely empty the room before speaking, “I wanted to congratulate you.”

No-Face hummed with a raised brow, “Congratulate me?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “You’ve been doing exceptionally well. Better than I thought you would.”

“Right, thanks,” No-Face replied in an almost sarcastic tone.

Laswell smiled, “That was a compliment. You’ve gained many people’s trust, got a citizenship, a rank... and in only a year, too. I’m proud of you.”

Silence. And then-

“Thank you,” she nodded, her words no longer holding the sarcasm they previously held.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Laswell added with a soft smile, “But I’ve heard talks that they might... cut your leash soon.”

“You mean...” Her voice trailed off, “I won’t be... as controlled... anymore?”

Laswell confirmed with a nod, “You might be able to leave base without supervision. Go on missions without the captain. You’ll be, well, you won’t be treated like just any other soldier, I don’t think that will happen for another few years, or ever. But... you’ll have more freedom.”

She wet her lips, and couldn’t help the involuntary smile that pulled at the corners of her lips, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Laswell shook her head, “Or Price. This is all your doing. The progress you’ve made in such a short time is worth praise...” she paused, a thoughtful look appearing on her face before she decided to continue speaking, “They... they’ve got some plan for you, No-Face.”

“A plan?”

She nodded, “I don’t know what it is. Not yet at least.”

“Something to do with my past?” No-Face spoke in almost a whisper, her tone worried.

“Most likely,” Kate agreed, “As soon as I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

She took in a deep breath, and then exhaled sharply before speaking again, “Okay.”

“Now go get ready. You’re leaving in 20.”

83 notes · View notes

isabella-kr · 10 months

Text

Chapter Ten: The Embassy

This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.

If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.

This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Army.

Synopsis: The Embassy is under attack, and as the chaotic night progresses, No-face finds herself facing her past.

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence; shooting, guns, blood, injuries, explosions, terrorism, death ; No-Face faces her past near the end

Word Count: 5.7k

Note: I hate this long ass mission

Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

The blades whirred furiously. The helicopter shook, metals rattling against one another in fear as the wind blew against the machine. The soldiers were eerily quiet, most lost deep in their own thoughts and others too focused on containing their own stress to speak even a word.

Thomas’ shoulder pressed firmly against hers, the material of his uniform rubbing against the roughness of hers. His presence was comforting, but whether the action was meant to soothe her or rather him, she was unsure. She made no attempt to move, however, happily accepting the small gesture.

Despite the thick helmet sitting protectively over his head and clasping around his face, she could clearly see the deep clench of his jaw. His eyes seemed to be narrowed, too; a thoughtful expression settling on his usually relaxed face. She could recognise his overly-concerned look from a mile away, and wanting nothing more than to comfort the man who had been by her side from the very beginning of this journey, she squeezed his hand.

He sent her a small smile, shuffling down the metal bench to press his temple against her shoulder. She spared him a small glance, but said nothing as he nuzzled into her. She shared a look with the captain from across his helicopter, his eyebrow raising at the two, but he said nothing.

“2-6, Echo is on the third deck for RV...” The voice of a CIA agent, Alex, suddenly reached them through the comms, “Be advised – primary entry point is clear but that window is rapidly closing.”

That does not sound promising.

“Roger,” Gaz replied, “Wheels down in three mikes. 2-6 out.”

Sharing a look with Thomas, No-Face pushed herself off the metal bench and stood, her hand grabbing onto a metal rack above her. Her thick, leather gloves, still decorated with a red scythe, protected the skin of her palm from the raggedy metal, yet she could still feel the bumps of it pressing into her fingers.

Thomas made no attempt to move, still exhausted from the previous mission. His legs were spread, with the heels of his heavy boots digging into the metal flooring. She almost felt bad for him, but this was no time to rest, and so she kicked his boot and gestured for him to stand. He did so with an annoyed puff, stepping behind her as they awaited their arrival.

“3-1 to 2-6,” Alex’s voice rang out in their ears once again, “Shots fired, moving to secure the HVI, will advise...”

“Copy, 3-1,” Gaz answered, a look of concentration on his face, “Bravo’s on station. Reposition and prep for evac.”

The captain them moved to stand beside her, his Boonie hat as always sitting proudly on top of his head. He sent her a small, yet reassuring nod as the voice of the pilot echoed in their ears.

“30 seconds.”

“Roger,” Price spoke gruffly, “30 seconds.”

With a tight grasp, he slid open the metal door, and all were immediately met with an unwelcome sight. Thousands upon thousands of men gathered by the U.S Embassy, their shouts and screams echoing in the air as they protested the arrest of their leader.

The smell of smoke hit them as soon as the door was open, multiple cars set alight by the protesting population. No-Face has had enough of fire and smoke for a lifetime; from her very first mission settling heavily on her lungs and leaving its deathly marks on her skin, to many others leaving charcoal soot to settle on her bruised skin. She pulled the black mask up and over the bridge of her nose, stopping the worst of it from infiltrating her airways.

It was intimidating almost – the sheer number of them. An Army ready to kill all to protect and save the man they had considered their leader. She couldn’t allow for intimidation, however. Fear and stress were not on the table here, not when so much was at stake.

Closing her eyes, she remembered one of the few valuable teachings she was given as a teenager – as an assassin. Shut down. They used to tell her – like a machine on overload. Shut down and all will cease; all fear, pain, worry. It will all go away, and your mission will become that much easier.

No empathy for her enemies. No flinching at the sounds of their bones breaking. No guilt upon hearing their pain-filled cries. A shell of a person if you will. Deadly, but effective.

Her eyes seemed empty when Price looked back at her. A sight he had seem merely a handful of times. The first when she almost killed him, the second in Munich, when he had managed to capture her, and then once or twice on one of their more difficult missions; the ones that were going wrong and it seemed as neither of them would come out of there alive.

He could have sworn he felt a chill run down his spine.

“There’s a large group of unknowns moving on the front gate,” One of the Pilots said as the Helicopter flew closer and closer to the riots.

Leaning out of the helicopter, Price spoke, “Al-Qatala’s down there.”

An explosion. The screams turned into cheers as the riots moved forward.

“They’ve breached the perimeter.”

John’s brows knit, “Put us on the roof.”

“Roger.”

“We have to reach Echo fast.” The captain spoke as he attached a thick rope to the side of a helicopter, “They’ve got a lot of hell headed their way.”

No-Face glared down at the ground when gunshots hit the sides of the helicopter, some bouncing off the hard metal and others lodging themselves in the machine. Her eyes narrowed as she looked towards the captain, who seemed to share her concern.

“Taking small-arms fire,” the Pilot yelled over the comms.

“RPG!” was all the warning John managed to give the others before the rocket hit the back of the helicopter, sending the soldiers backwards at the impact.

They all fell to the metal floor with loud thuds, their arms slamming down as groans of pain escaped their lips. Thomas held onto one of the metal pipes, his other hand grabbing No-Face's forearm as the helo began to uncontrollably fly in circles, the whirring of the machine growing louder.

The Pilots yelled in the background; their voices panicked as they lost control. She could hear them clicking, or rather slamming into the many buttons, but in the end it was pointless. The helicopter was bound to have a crash landing.

“Ropes!” Price yelled, “Go!”

One by one, the soldiers latched onto the rope and descended, their bodies aching when they collided with the hard stone of the roof and rolled across it. Bruises were sure to form on their sore bodies, No-Face's side already stinging from the thousands of tiny stones digging into her body.

The uncontrollable helicopter flew above them, its tail set alight. They watched in horror as it neared a building until it inevitably crashed into it; an explosion. Their arms moved to protect their heads. A stray blade from the helicopter crashed into the roof, right between her and the captain, before bouncing and falling off the hard roof.

They shared a small look of disbelief before John shook it off, “Anyone broken?”

A series of ‘no’s sounded between them as they all pushed themselves up to their feet.

“Echo 3-1, primary extraction failed. We’re down on the roof.” Price spoke into the microphone, picking up his hat and placing it back on his head.

“Understood,” Alex soon replied, “What’s the call, Captain?”

The group readied themselves – guns at the ready – as they moved in the direction of a metal door, which would lead them inside. No-Face patted Thomas’ shoulder, silently asking whether he was okay – if his injured. He replied with a simple smile.

“There’s a saferoom in the basement. Head there – we'll be right behind you.”

“Roger, we’re moving.”

One by one the soldiers entered the building, No-face at the very end of the group as they descended a flight of stairs. Screams and riots from the outside could be clearly heard high up in the building, the multiple fires lighting up the area and the smoke poisoning the air.

If she did not have her mask on, she was sure she would have been scrunching up her nose in distaste at the smell.

Price’s gruff voice caught their attention as they moved through the building, “We have to reach the saferoom before Al-Qatala does.”

“And the Embassy Personnel?” Questioned Garrick.

John was quick to reply as they rushed through the corridors, “Al-Qatala’s here for the wolf. So are we.”

Her boots stomped against the floor as they moved through the corridors, the men checking every door for loose handles, but it was only when Price approached a mechanically locked door that an alarm started to beep, and the door opened to let them through.

The room was chaos. Embassy Personnel ran around in a panic and some cried in fear as papers and boxes littered the room. The lights flickered above them like in that one Horror movie Thomas showed her once, causing some of the civilians to look up nervously.

“Good, you’re here,” A man in a suit ran over to him, his breathing heavy, “They need five minutes to finish up. What can I do to help?” He questioned, keeping up with them as they jogged through the busy room.

“Find weapons,” Price told him, “Barricade the doors.”

They left the man behind as he yelled, “But you’re the extraction team!”

“Not yours.”

She didn’t feel bad. No guilt, no sympathy. She felt nothing as she left the civilians behind and continued with the mission. Nothing else mattered at that moment as she followed at the back of the small group of soldiers.

“You!” Price eventually pointed at one of the personnel, “Get this door open.”

The man was quick to open the door with a large, flickering ‘EXIT’ sight above it. He didn’t argue with the captain, nor did he question him. He simply opened the door and let the soldiers out of the room.

They were descending another flight of stairs, the screams of the rioters echoing in the distance as car alarms blared threateningly.

“0-6, Echo 3-1.” Alex’s voice spoke through the comms once more, “The wolf is secure in the basement saferoom. Be advised, the Butcher is outside – yellow shirt.”

Speak of the devil. As they approached another door, the yellow-shirted man approached the entrance of the building with a hoard of hostiles, who smashed a large window.

“I have eyes on him,” Price replied through the comms, “They’re breaking through now. We need a new extraction point, fast.”

A lady screamed when she shot through the door, her eyes widening as she was faced with multiple guns aimed her way. Price pushed her to the side and the group rushed through the door.

The Al-Qatala was almost inside a building. Only a bulletproof window separated them from the Embassy, but it was only a matter of time before they breached through it as they shot multiple rounds of bullets into it. Multiple men – multiple terrorists – banged on the thick glass, the bullets bouncing off and lodging into it.

“Shit!” Kyle yelled through the chaos as Price pushed another civilian out of his way, “We need to engage these guys, sir!”

“Negative.” Price answered.

“If they breach through, they’ll get the wolf, Garrick. Just keep moving.” No-Face added, her tone cold.

Price hummed in confirmation, “We clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” The group stopped at a blue door, preparing themselves as they were about to enter the main entrance of the building, “Take point.”

Gaz was quick to push open the door, and the group was met with a nightmare. The Al-Qatala were holding one of the Embassy Personnel, aiming their guns at him as they ordered him to open the door. The others shot at the bulletproof window, attempting to break it down.

The room was a chaos, the U.S Marine’s yelled at the civilians, Price yelled at the civilians, and the civilians yelled at the soldiers, arguing with them.

No-Face stalked through the room, knowing nothing could be done to save the civilian outside, and approached the door on the other side. “Keycard,” she held out her hand towards one of the civilians, who approached her with a rush. She didn’t open the door yet, and instead waited for the rest of the group to catch up. Thomas was first, as Garrick looked as though he wanted to help the man outside the window, only to have Price stop him.

As Butcher shot the man, and grabbed his son, aiming a gun to his head, too, John joined them at the door. Although hesitant, Kyle made his way over to them. Sharing a nod with John, No-Face then pushed the door open, and they were on the move again.

She moved to the back of the group again, keeping an eye on the man and their surroundings as they walked through a dark corridor. An engine revved, and a mighty truck drove by the side of the Embassy.

That’s not good.

Price’s gruff voice broke through the sound of the loud revving, “3-1, enemy vehicle is inbound. What’s the status of extraction?”

“We’re working on getting everyone out.” A U.S Soldier replied, “For now, just sit tight and stay calm.”

“Building’s locked down,” Alex told them through the comms, “No way out, captain.”

As they turned a corner, they were faced with a large group fo Personnel seemingly arguing and shouting at the U.S soldiers. In their eyes, they were doing nothing to help them, and they became increasingly agitated by the lack of response.

They approached the agitated civilians, but didn’t get far. As they walked in between the desks, a small explosion pushed them all back. No-Face fell on her side as the truck crashed into the building, and terrorists with rifles began shooting up the place.

She was quick to hide behind a desk, unloading her gun as she aimed at the violent hostiles. There were many of them, and their bullets were pouring like rain from a thunderous cloud, killing civilians and soldiers alike.

Some of the civilians managed to run out of the invaded room, their screams echoing as bullets continued to rain upon them. She threw a grenade at them, and watched as one hostile’s leg get blown off. He screamed out. She put him out of misery, her bullet lodging in his brain.

The bullets ceased. They shot into action again, their footsteps quiet as they ran across the room and crouched behind the large truck. Another hostile moved their way, and No-Face quickly shot at him, killing him at once.

Moving through the corridors was a nightmare. The hostiles were like ants, running out of places you’d expect them the least. The sounds of gunshots rang in their ears, the screaming of civilians following suit as they feared for their lives.

“Fuck!” She groaned when a stray bullet scratched her shoulder, her eyes narrowing at the hostile before she shot him in the neck. He fell to the floor with a loud, cracking thud. She stepped over him, her bullets flying in every direction as she killed off the hostiles aiming her way.

“3-1, AQ’s breached!” Price yelled into the comms once the onslaught of hostiles ended, “They’re inside and headed your way!”

“Roger that.”

The silence was eerie. Strange as they walked through quiet corridors.

“Let’s go to the basement,” Price ordered, “Take point.”

Gaz ran ahead and slammed the back of his gun against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Locked,” he raised.

“I’ve got it,” John approached the door and pulled out a sharp metal, lodging it between the doorframe and forcefully opening the door.

A hostile pushed out with his gun aimed at the soldiers. Everyone raised their guns, but Gaz was the quickest to react, shooting the man right between the eyes.

“Nice shot,” No-Face complimented.

“3-1, we’re in the basement,” Price announced as they made their way down the staircase and through the cement corridor.

“Rog’. Be advised, we have hostiles outside the saferoom,” Alex told them over the comms.

“We’ll take care of it,” was Price’s answered as they stalked towards the room, the shouts of hostiles echoing in the building.

Take care of it they did. There was only one, a singular hostile running their way with a loud scream. He was promptly shot, his body falling to the floor.

“Let ‘em know we’re here sergeant,” Price told Garrick as they approached the door to the saferoom.

Kyle nodded, pressing a finger against a small buzzer, “3-1, we’re here.”

The door was opened, revealing a woman and two men aiming their guns at the group. They looked relieved when they saw the captain, clearly recognising him.

“Farah,” John said in recognition, “still fighting the good fight...”

“Always, captain,” she responded as they approached two men at the other side of the room, one standing up and holding a gun, and the other sitting down on the floor; the wolf.

“The ambassador's still inside, sir,” Alex spoke, “he’s trapped.”

“Okay, keep him on the line, he may be our way out of here. Hadir-” Price looked at the man standing beside the wolf, “thanks for the assist.”

“Our pleasure, sir.”

“Omar Sulaman,” The captain directed his words at the wolf.

The blind man turned his head in John’s direction, “Have we met?”

“Yeah, back when you were on our side.”

“The wolf was a freedom fighter?” Hadir questioned, eyebrow raising in surprise.

The wolf retorted, “I still am, brother.”

“The Butcher’s men are closing on the Ambassador, captain.” Farah spoke up,

“Rog’.” Price nodded, “Kyle, man these cameras. Direct the Ambassador to safety. We’ll need his key card to open the rear door. Rest of you, on me.”

The group gathered by the door then, with Price being the first in line to leave once the door opens. No-Face was right beside him, her sweat rolling down and soaking into her black mask. Her eyes locked with John’s, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought of the other her, from ten years ago, whenever he saw her with that stupid mask over her face.

She wondered if her face ever gave him nightmares.

“Captain, the Ambassador is down,” Kyle suddenly voiced, “but I can lead his assistant to you.”

“Do it.” He answered, looking over No-Face and at Kyle, “We need the keycard.”

Silence fell upon them then, their eyes settled on the door as though it was the most interesting piece in an art gallery.

“You’re bleeding,” Thomas’ voice suddenly reached her.

They turned to look at him, but his eyes were only on his friend. He pointed at her left shoulder, where a large surface area of her uniform was soaked with blood. She spread the material apart, eyes narrowing as she analysed the blood-soaked wound.

She sighed out before looking back at the door, “It’s just a scratch,” she assured her friend, “I’ll be fine.”

Thomas let it go, although she could see the concern still lingered in his eyes.

It felt as though they were waiting for hours for the door to open. The minutes stretched, and their hold on their guns tightened. She could feel Thomas’ breathing turned heavy from the way it blew on her neck, making her look at him from the corner of her eye.

The door suddenly opened and they moved out of the room. The Assistant Gaz was directing ran inside as they began shooting at the hostiles, who in turn shot back.

“Sergeant, we got her,” Price spoke through the comms as they shot at the multiple hostiles, “Let’s regroup in the parking lot.”

“Roger that, boss.”

They moved through the room, the civilian remaining with the group as they ran down a long staircase, their boots stomping against the floor.

“All stations this net,” a U.S soldier spoke through the comms, “the embassy has fallen. Marines are setting up a rally point at the Ambassador residence.”

Price pressed a button on his comms as he began to speak, “This is Captain Price, SAS. We’re working on our way to you.”

They soon regrouped with Kyle, who ran towards them from the other side of the parking lot. He looked unhurt, perhaps a little bit tired, but no injuries decorated his skin.

“Garrick, we’re leaving,” Price let him know.

The Sergeant nodded, “Roger that.”

“Hadir - watch on sulaman.”

“Captain,” Hadir nodded as they raced through the parking lot, with Hadir’s gun aimed directly at the wolf’s head.

“What’s the plan?” Farah questioned.

“Link up with the marines at the southern compound,” Price answered.

Kyle and No-Face seemed to be thinking of the same thing, as he asked, “Where’s the compound?”

“Not far,” Stacy, the Ambassador’s assistant answered, “Through the alley across the street.”

The war was sure to follow then outside of the embassy. The streets were littered with destroyed cars, with their alarms blaring in the distance, the sound of gunshots echoed in the air, and the smell of smoke was so strong it penetrated through her thick mask.

She groaned as she aimed her gun at an incoming hostile, shooting him in the chest before he got the chance to do her, or anyone else any damage. They moved through the streets with precision, their steps calculated and careful as bullets rained from their guns.

A thick smog filled the air as they moved, making their eyes sting as it settled heavily on them. It was uncomfortable, but the soldiers were used to the feeling, having experienced many such situations in their careers.

“Alley across the street! Move!” Price yelled as he ran between the buildings, the others falling close behind him. “Echo 3-1, you’re clear to move up.”

“Rog’.” Alex was quick to reply, “Coming to you.”

“Watch your movements,” Price warned seriously.

A woman ran past then with a screaming child on her side, hiding between the buildings as they made their way past her. The night was turning darker, and the smog from all the fires that surrounded them made it even darker than it already was.

With a few more minutes of running, the soldiers finally reached the compound. Kyle was swift in pressing a keycard against the reader, the lights turning from red to green, gaining them access to the compound, “This is Bravo 6. SAS.”

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” a U.S soldier commented when a buzzer sounded, and they were let inside the compound, where the U.S Marines were staying. They were greeted by a group of soldiers, their rifles at the ready as they rushed them inside.

“We need a secure room to store the prisoner,” Price told them.

“Yes, sir,” The Marine nodded, “Secure room in the residence, follow me.”

“This’ll have to do,” John commented as a room was opened, and the wolf was pushed inside. The terrorist let out a few words, but No-Face blocked his voice out as she moved to stand beside Thomas, who was exchanging a few words with a U.S soldier.

She watched as John opened his mouth, speaking into his comms, “Watcher, this is 0-6. I need air support and I need it now.”

“Negative, 0-6,” Laswell answered as Kyle approached the two. No-Face sent him a small nod, which he returned with a quirk of his lips, “Can’t risk another bird.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fu-Kate, get me something!” They all followed behind John as he rushed outside, “We’ll be fighting the whole bloody night.”

“The only drone in range needs a refuel.” She explained, “It can’t stay up for long.”

Price’s voice raised, his voice sounding gruffer than it usually was, “Just get it here. 0-6, out.”

A gate opened before them, and they made their way further into the compound. Two small buildings stood on either side of the space. He moved further in, heading for one of the buildinds.

“Hadir, Alex, No-Face, go north, cover that roof,” he ordered, separating the group, “Kyle, Farrah, Wiz, you’re with me.”

“Roger, Captain,” was Alex’s reply as the trip headed north.

They climbed up the roof, grabbing the Sniper rifles on their way and positioning themselves on the hard roof. She laid beside Alex, his blond hair falling on his forehead, his sleeved pushed up and revealing the many tattoos that decorated his arms.

“Alex, right?” she asked, looking through the scope of her rifle.

He nodded, his breathing slow and controlled, “No-Face?” he asked, to which she replied with a simple nod, “You’re a good shot.”

The corners of her lips curled upwards under her mask, “Thanks,” she looked over at him from the corner of her eye, “You use your hair to blind the hostiles?”

He laughed lowly at her words, Hadir joining in with a soft snort. They fell into a silence, however, when a car drove up to a café surrounded by men in military clothing.

“Looking out way – no bueno.” Alex commented, pressing a finger against the button on to the comms.

The hostiles began to panic then. They opened a garage door and rushed inside, closing it after them with a loud slam.

“Something’s got them spooked,” A U.S soldier spoke.

“Check right...” Alex gestured with his head, the soldiers looking to the right as more hostiles walked towards the brightly lit-up café, “Two more.”

The darkness of the night made it more difficult to focus on the hostiles, a large field remaining unlit right in front of them. She tightened her hold on her rifle, preparing herself.

Shots began in their direction, and it wasn’t long before a flare was shot into the field. It lit up the area, exposing the terrorists who were moving in their direction.

She pressed on her trigger, shooting at the terrorists, humming when a few of them feel to the ground; dead. It was like a full-fledged war. More and more soldiers gathered, shooting at the compound as they did their best to defend it.

It felt as though they were there for hours, just shooting; killing.

A sudden RPG missile shot their way, an explosion right by her throwing her body off the roof. She fell to the ground with a painful groan, her eyes clenching as the other soldiers shouted atop the roofs.

Shaking off the pain, she pushed herself up back to her feet. She was ready to get back to the group; to start shooting at the advancing terrorists. She made the mistake of looking across the street.

On the pavement, hiding by one of the buildings stood a motionless soldier. They didn’t have an army uniform, but their stance told her everything she needed to know. It was when she looked at her hands that her eyes widened and an angered groan left her lips.

A red mark. She couldn’t see it perfectly, but she knew exactly what it was. A scythe.

She sprang into action, abandoning her group behind as she chased after the Assassin. They moved too, disappearing between the buildings with No-Face close on their trail. They were fast, but with the determination to catch them, No-Face managed to grab onto the back of their nape, pulling their body down to the floor.

The Assassin grunted in pain as her back slammed against the stone ground. No-Face moved above her, but she kicked her back, pressing her hard against the wall. Oxygen was knocked out of her lungs as a hard punch was landed her way, but No-Face only let one slip.

She grabbed her other hand as it came her way, and using it to her advantage, she slammed the helmet against the Assassin’s measly head covering. She cried out in pain, grabbing onto her forehead as blood began to trickle down her temple.

A thud came from behind her, and No-Face wasted no time aiming her gun at the sudden intruder, shooting them straight between the eyes. Their limp body feel between the bins.

She wasn’t sure how far away from the battlefield she was, but the explosions and gunshots sounded distant. She ignored the worry she felt for her group, and aimed the gun at the disoriented Assassin, “What do you want?”

“To kill you, traitor,” She spat back, grabbing onto her own gun.

No-Face pressed against her trigger and shot her.

“No-Face,” John’s voice sounded from the comms, “How copy?”

She pressed her hand against the button, ready to reply when her attention was taken by heavy footsteps to her right. A man with a large build waved at her tauntingly and ran into the building.

That’s new. She thought as she followed suit. Never ever have they sent more than two Assassins on the same mission. ‘It’s pointless’ they used to say ‘it goes well, we wasted resources. It fails, we lose more Assassins than needed’.

“No-Face!” John yelled into her ear, “How copy!”

She stopped in an abandoned room, “I’m-” was all she managed to say before a boot was slammed into her side.

She cried out in pain, her scream reaching through the comms as she fell to the floor. She could hear John begin to speak again, but the small microphone was pulled out of her ear and stomped on, destroying the communication device.

She looked up at the man, his eyes – the only part of him visible – looking familiar. She felt she recognised him, but remained wary as she pushed herself up. A sound came from behind her as another Assassin joined the party.

“Really?” she spat, “They sent four of you to take me out?”

They didn’t say anything, and just continued to circle her like predators. The female assassin had a large, curved knife in her hand. It was already covered in blood, but the man was clean, not a drop of blood on his uniform.

“So?” No-Face raised a brow.

The woman moved towards her; her knife aimed at No-Face as she charged at her. The Assassin groaned when she defended herself, grabbing tight onto her wrist and throwing her body to the floor. She was young; inexperienced.

“Sent a kid after me,” No-Face commented, “Now, that’s a suicide mission.”

Both Assassins then charged at her, and the fight began. Punches were thrown, insults spat and bodies slammed into walls, floors and against the weak windows.

Fighting against those who were taught the same moves as you was difficult; they could predict her every punch. But so could she.

She fought back, her punches lethal as she rammed her fist repeatedly into the woman’s head. The man pulled her off, throwing her body across the room with ease. She groaned, grabbing onto her side, where she just realised was a deep cut.

She wasn't sure which blood was hers, and which wasn’t. Her uniform was covered in it, some of it falling into her eyes as her skin was painted a dark crimson.

It was tiring, and a part of her feared she would not come out of it alive. They were determined, and their attacks were aimed to kill her.

She pushed herself back up, and with a bit of luck, she had managed to attack again, the woman’s neck cracking under her hands. It was just her and the large man now, his eyes holding nothing but anger and... hurt.

“Do I know you?” she questioned seriously, panting through her words.

He ran, and she ran after him. Through the corridors, across rooms, up the stairs. He slammed into her eventually, pushing her tired body against a thin window. He pulled her up and slammed her again, the glass breaking behind her, body leaning out dangerously.

She kicked at him, but his hold remained strong.

“I do know you...” she whispered, one hand grabbing onto the window sill, whilst the other reached for his dark mask.

She tried to pull it off. She needed to see his face.

His eyes didn’t hold the same type of hatred. Not like the other Assassins who simply hated her for being a traitor. No, his hatred was personal. His hatred was deep.

“Who are you...” she choked out, her body being pushed out enough for her hand to slip from the window sill, now holding onto his wrists.

He leaned in close, and right before he let go, three venom-filled words left his lips, “I hate you.”

She gasped, her body falling to the ground beneath her. Her hand managed to grab onto another window sill, holding herself still for a few seconds before she slipped. Her body slammed against the ground below, oxygen leaving her lungs at the hard impact.

She panted, struggling to breathe in as tears welled up in her eyes.

The man was gone, his body disappearing from the window as he left her there on the ground. He didn’t kill her off, and she couldn’t help but wonder why.

She tensed again when rushed footsteps headed her way. Oh. Maybe he was going to finish her off.

A firm hand gripped her shoulder, and the concerned face of captain Price appeared in her view. He said something, but the ringing in her ears prevented her from hearing anything. She blinked wildly as he held her still.

Her eyes landed on the Assassin she had shot, her body still laying between the trash bins. She moved, but John’s strong hold held her down.

She whined. She fucking whined as she pushed his hands off her, and began crawling towards the dead body.

“For fucks sake, No-Face, stop moving,” she heard him groan as the ringing in her ears died down.

She shook her head, and painfully moved towards her, her gloved hand reaching for her body and pulling her towards her. Her hand reached for Price’s waist then, and he didn’t fight her when she grabbed his torch.

He let her go, watching closely when she moved the black covering off her head. She turned on the torch, still wheezing from the impact, and pushed the hair on her nape back.

A-402(F) was burned into the area between her hair, right above her nape.

She looked back at Price, who just narrowed his eyes.

She groaned and with shaky fingers, she undid the straps that held her helmet in place. She pushed the heavy covering off her head, and let her head fall slightly. She pushed her own hair aside and gave him the torch, an almost identical burn sitting between her hair: A-326(F)

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