Call of duty

November 2023. 1100 hours.

“Careful, Sergeant!”

Price shouted at Soap, as two Konni soldiers gained ground dangerously close to the Scotsman. Whom Ghost immediately eliminated upon seeing.

“I had ‘em right where I wanted ‘em! What took ye so long anyways, L.T?!”

Soap flashed a boyish grin at the lieutenant, at which he just blankly stared at him for not even a second before concentrating back onto the danger ahead.

“Shipment truck is three clicks ahead, moving north. You’ve got two minutes before it reaches the extraction point.”

Alex, said over comms, typing furiously onto a computer he had gotten from a nearby Urzikstan intelligence center. He had a view of everything around him due to the dozens of cameras. (He totally didn’t have to kill some patrol officers of Konni to get into that intelligence center. Wink, wink.)

Similar in position was Makarov. While he wasn’t actively fighting, he had been spying on the entire battle between his soldiers and Shadow company, Tf141 and the ULF from a fortified Konni FOB for a while now. Making no move to help. Why would he? It wasn’t his problem. The truck shipment was a decoy anyway.

See, now that Tf141 and Shadow company had a forced alliance, while the ULF got along just fine with everyone— because of a common enemy— Vladimir Makarov— they had to go on missions together. And when they found out from Alex Keller, a good friend of Farah’s and a CIA operative, that a shipment containing — god knows fucking what — from Konni would be transported to — again, god knows fucking where — that they had to stop it. So here they were. Three forces united by one terrorist because he’s too dangerous to be kept alive. How adorable.

As everything went according to plan (it didn’t), it slowly went downhill. Mid-fire, their vision went whit, a high ringing sound echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once. Shooting stopped Shouts were drained out by the piercing din Weapons fell to the floor Their bodies followed.. Even Alex— even MAKAROV stopped

And when they furiously blinked their eyes to regain control of their vision, of their hearing ability, of control of their body. They found themselves in a cozy living room. One way too innocent looking for a bunch of war hardened soldiers.

«Где, чёрт возьми, мы находимся?!» (where the hell are we?!)

Andrei Nolan, Makarovs second in command spoke first, gun raised, scanning the room when he felt a rough hand on his shoulder. Makarov.

”Makarov.”

Gaz growled. Gun pointed at him.

”Don’t. We’re in a civilians house. Any shot could be fatal.”

Price stopped him. Not because he was merciful, he wasn’t. But because it was a danger zone. They didn’t know where they were. And right now. They only had each other to go off of.