Bells ring after the eagle cries

by Aceplaysgames7462

Summary:

old allies and new enemies meet through a fog of lies and deception.

Soldiers die. day in day out, an everlasting stream of sweat blood and tears. So why is bell alive? that is a question he has asked himself through his whole life.

So what happens when he wakes up in an unfamiliar bed after being betrayed by the people he thought he could trust? and what happens when someone from his least favourite three letter agency says they need him back?

and why is there a terrorist with the same last name as him?

oh shit that's his nephew.

or

Bell wakes up 40 years in the future after being shot by Adler and finds that his nephew that he left behind has turned into a terrorist,now bell has to help the task force hunting down Vladimir.

task force 141

Chapter 1: The dead come talking.

Summary:

the beginning of the end and a start of a new life.

( everything is translated from Google translate and I apologise profusely for this if anything is grammatically incorrect or doesn't make sense)

Notes:

"=talking '=thoughts ()=translation

Bell knew he was dying when he saw Adler draw his gun. In truth, he had already been dead the moment he learned what had been done to him. No name, no birthday, no history—he was a shell of who he once was, a book with its pages ripped out, a long-forgotten song twisted and broken by a cruel artist.

 

What Bell did not expect was how much it would hurt. The bullet pierced his cheek, embedding itself within his already broken body. He had experienced pain worse than this before, but he couldn’t recall when, how, or why. He felt himself falling. The ground beneath him cracked and crunched.

 

Every ache, every throb of pain surged through him. He felt the blood pouring from his mouth, tasting the familiar, metallic flavor of it—something he had felt many times before, yet he couldn’t remember any of it, all because of Russell Adler.

 

His mouth was dry. His back hurt. His neck ached. Everything hurt.

 

He blinked his eyes open slightly, only to be met by harsh sunlight and a dark silhouette. Blinking again, his vision focused on the man looming over him—someone who seemed strangely familiar. It was as if he had been from a dream he no longer remembered.

 

The feeling that he knew him from somewhere lingered.

 

Bell blinked lazily before hearing the man speak. "*Как разочаровывает... Ты всегда был лучшим из нас, Сэмюэл.*" (How disappointing... you've always been the best of us, Samuel.)

 

The words were harsh and cutting. He felt his heart sink, though for reasons Bell couldn’t comprehend. Rough hands wrapped around his arms, hoisting him into a kneeling position, blood still pouring from his mouth. Somehow, he found the strength to lift his head and meet the man’s gaze.

 

Realization crashed down on him. Memories flooded back from a long-forgotten past. “*…Сэр…*” (Sir.)

He muttered, his words muddled and heavily accented. The world around him blurred, and he was thrown away once again.

 

He tried to scream, to speak, but nothing came out. His vision faded, his last thought echoing in his mind: Only a grave can cure a hunchback.

A sharp pain coursed through his body as he felt himself being strapped down to a stretcher. And then, everything went dark.

 

---

BEEP

 

 

BEEP

 

 

BEEP BEEP BEEP

 

 

 

The steady beeping of a heart monitor roused him from what felt like hell. His body still ached, but the pain had mostly subsided. Blinking his heavy eyelids, he opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh, sterile white lights above him.

 

Bell blinked again, trying to block out the light, and once his vision cleared, he looked around. Milky white walls, medical equipment—he was in a hospital.

But where? And why?

 

Before he could make sense of it, someone entered the room. A voice spoke, snapping him from his thoughts. "You're finally awake."

The voice was calm, almost surprised. Bell turned his head toward the door and saw a slightly tall, lean man in hospital scrubs and a medical mask. Bell tried to speak, but his mouth was dry, and his throat sore. When he finally managed to find his voice, it was raspy and shaky.

 

"Where am I?" He asked tensely, unsure if he could trust the man. The man walked to his bedside, grabbed a clipboard from a nearby table, and spoke in a gravelly voice.

"You're currently in Lappi Central Hospital. I’m Dr. Michaels. You’re under my care. It's truly miraculous you're alive, given your injuries. In fact, you were pronounced dead until last week, when your brain activity restarted."

As Dr. Michaels spoke, Bell scanned the room, noticing strange medical equipment attached to him. The doctor continued. "There's someone here for you. She’ll explain everything."

 

With that, he placed the clipboard back down and left the room, leaving Bell to wonder, Who could be here for me? He waited in silence for a few minutes before the door opened again. This time, a woman entered.

She wore a purple blouse and grey pants, a lanyard with an ID badge hanging from her neck. Bell glanced at the label, his heart stirring with anger as he saw the logo. The woman took a seat beside his bed and spoke with a slight American accent.

"Hello, Bell. My name is Kate Laswell—"

 

Bell interrupted her, his voice still weak but filled with hostility. "You're CIA." Laswell seemed slightly taken aback by his tone but quickly composed herself.

 

"Yes, I am. Will that be a problem, Bell?" Bell met her gaze with narrowed eyes.

 

"No, it won’t. But I’m curious—how did CIA personnel manage to get into Soviet territory?" Laswell’s expression shifted slightly, her eyebrows furrowing at the implication. She chose to ignore it and pressed on.

 

"As I was saying, my name is Kate Laswell. You’re likely disoriented, and that’s normal considering your condition. Speaking of which, there are scientists still trying to understand how your body managed to survive without any physical changes during a forty-year coma."

 

Bell's eyes widened in disbelief. "Forty years?" He hoarsely asked, shaking his head. "That’s not possible."

 

His gaze flickered down to the strange machines attached to him, to the random hospital room he found himself in, in God-knows-where. "You’re playing some sick fucking game. There’s no way."

Laswell cut him off, her voice sharp as she opened a file in her hands. She turned it toward him, and his gaze immediately fell on the file—worn, marked with blacked-out sections. It was his file. Bell’s file. The sections of text were all redacted, except for his callsign, mission dates, and a few other details. The file itself was ragged and worn, as if it had been handled for years.She spoke slowly, her tone methodical.

 

"Bell, what happened to you is a historical anomaly. You were found several hours away from civilization on the Solovetsky Islands by a group of historians. They contacted the CIA when they saw your uniform."

 

She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle in. "Your body endured catastrophic injuries and somehow kept you alive for forty years with no physical change. It’s unprecedented in human history."

Bell was speechless. He looked at her, then back at the file, his mind racing to comprehend the reality of what she was saying. Finally, he spoke, his voice cautious. "So... what happens to me now?"

 

Laswell gave him a measured look, as if waiting for him to absorb it all. After a moment, she answered bluntly. "That depends on you. All of your files are classified. You could return to service once you're medically cleared. We could use someone of your caliber. You already know that the work never ends. Or, you could live the rest of your life as a civilian."

 

Bell felt the weight of her words. She was right—he could never be a ‘normal’ civilian again. But there was no way he would go back to working for the CIA, not after everything he had learned. What other choice did he have, though? He couldn’t go back to Perseus. Hell, he didn’t even know if Perseus still existed.

 

He sighed heavily. "Well, what choice do I really have?" He paused before answering his own question, a bitter edge to his voice. "I’ll go back to service. I’ll get you a file that’s easier to read."

 

Laswell gave him a small, understanding smile. She stood and handed him a thick folder, "Read up." She spoke calmly. "You’ve got some history to catch up on."

 

She stood up, placed the folder on the side table, and walked out of the room, leaving Bell alone with his thoughts. He opened the folder, beginning to read through the contents. It was filled with muddled dates and pinned events. Typical CIA documentation—impossible to decipher without the right context.

 

---

After leaving the hospital, Bell found himself sitting in a desolate airport. The experience of getting an Uber had been jarring—what even was an Uber? It was a taxi, but... weird. His musings were interrupted by a voice behind him. "Hello again, Bell."

He quickly turned around and saw Laswell standing there with a suitcase in hand. He raised an eyebrow. "Same flight?"She nodded. "Follow me, our pilot is ready."

 

He grabbed his small duffel bag, the same black tracksuit he had worn when he was found.

It felt odd without the tactical vest, but it was all he had for now. As they walked through the airport, Laswell led him to a secluded section before they exited onto the landing pad.

A helicopter sat a few meters away, waiting for them.

Bell looked at Laswell, a humorous note in his voice. "A helo, really?"

---

(Brief explanation: Perseus had found Bell but left him for dead, choosing not to intervene.)

Chapter 2: new beginnings old memories

Summary:

Bells is on his way to re-integrate himself back into the military but old memories come bubbling up.

(please comment if any grammar is incorrect or if I need to explain anything further. as always have an amazing day or night!)

 

The helicopter looked like it had seen better days. Several panels were missing, and bullet holes marred the hull and doors, evidence of past violence. The sight of the damage made Bell’s mind flicker back to Vietnam, a place and time he tried desperately to forget. He shook off the memory, focusing instead on the present. He wasn’t there anymore.

Beside him, Laswell let out a small laugh, noticing Bell’s scrunched-up expression. “It’s the best we could do with such short notice,” she said lightly, but there was a no-nonsense edge to her voice that made Bell nod in acknowledgment.

He didn’t reply immediately, keeping his thoughts to himself as they walked toward the helicopter. The side doors opened swiftly, revealing a tall, bulky man with short slicked-back hair, wearing a leather jacket over a gray t-shirt. Dog tags dangled loosely from his neck, resting on his chest. A Russian flag patch was sewn onto the left side of his jacket, making Bell furrow his brow in confusion. He glanced sideways at Laswell, but she didn’t offer any explanation.

 

When they reached the helicopter, the man greeted Laswell with a cheerful, “Kate, good to see you!” His Russian accent was thick, but his tone was friendly. He then turned to Bell, smiling, though there was something guarded in his expression. “And you must be Bell?” Bell nodded, still feeling uneasy. “Yeah... that’s me,” he said, his voice steady but betraying a hint of tension.

The man’s demeanor shifted slightly as he turned back to Laswell. “The captain is waiting at the warehouse,” he said, his tone now serious. Laswell nodded in confirmation, and the man moved to the front of the helicopter. Bell and Laswell climbed in, strapping themselves in as the helicopter's engines roared to life. The blades cut through the air, and Bell felt the familiar rush of the aircraft lifting off the ground. His chest tightened, but he did his best to remain calm. He turned to Laswell, needing to break the silence, though he wasn’t sure what he hoped to hear.

 

“So, who is that exactly?” Bell asked, his voice low and curious.

Laswell didn’t look up from her laptop as she responded. “That’s Nikolai. The best pilot I know.” Her voice was calm, though Bell could sense an undercurrent of something unspoken. She didn’t elaborate, and Bell didn’t press the matter. Bell stuffed his duffel bag under the seat, securing it, then leaned back, trying to ease the tension in his muscles. Minutes passed in silence, but his mind was racing. He needed answers.

“So… what exactly has happened in the past few decades that you haven’t told me?” he asked, the frustration in his voice barely masked.

 

Laswell looked up briefly, her eyes meeting his, before returning her focus to the laptop. She closed it with a soft click, then sighed. “Well, the reason you’re on this helicopter instead of a civilian plane back to the States is because we need your help,” she said, her tone serious, but there was a faint pleading note that Bell caught. “We’re dealing with a new terrorist. He was recently broken out of a Russian gulag, and we don’t know where he’s going next. The higher-ups believe you can help us track him down and neutralize him. From what I’ve read in your reports, you’re a damn good soldier.”

 

Bell leaned forward, his unease growing. “Who is he?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Laswell didn’t hesitate. She spun her laptop around, her fingers flying over the keys. The screen glowed briefly before she pushed it toward Bell.

 

Vladimir Makarov

 

Bell’s heart stopped. For a moment, the world around him blurred. His blood ran cold, and a sick feeling churned in his stomach. He stared at the name, his body going rigid as the memories flooded back.

 

Vladimir Makarov.

 

The name was like a bullet to the chest. His mind reeled, flooded with images of a boy he once knew—a boy he once swore to protect—now grown into a monster. The memories hit him with such force it was as if he was drowning in them: the screams of a child, the desperation in the boy’s eyes, and the hollow, endless pain that followed. The image of the young boy clinging to him after the death of his mother, the boy’s face twisted with grief and confusion.

 

And then… everything that came after. The war, the betrayals, the bloodshed.

 

His nephew. A terrorist.

 

Bell felt the cold sweat prickle at the back of his neck as his mind reeled. One single tear slipped down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away, hoping Laswell hadn’t noticed. But everything felt suffocatingly clear now—the truth that had been buried so deep, now threatening to drown him.

 

“Volodya,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes burned, and he quickly wiped at his face, though it was already too late. Laswell glanced at him, waiting for some reaction. “Do you recognize him?” Her voice was sharp, insistent, like she was trying to peel back the layers of his calm exterior.

Bell felt the truth clawing its way up his throat, but he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit it. Not now. He had to lie.

 

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to respond. “Y-yeah, I’ve seen him before,” he said, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to sound casual. Laswell narrowed her eyes, studying him. “Did you know him?”

 

Bell’s heart pounded in his chest, his mouth dry as the words hovered on the edge of his tongue. He searched for something—anything—that would shield him from the truth. Finally, he lied.

 

“N-not really,” he stammered. “I was sent with one of my COs to infiltrate a KGB headquarters. There was a school tour going on, and a kid got separated from the group. He was that kid. I helped him get back to a teacher.” He felt his hands trembling as he spoke. “It’s weird seeing a kid grown up, especially when they… became a terrorist.” Laswell seemed to buy it. She nodded slowly, though there was a quiet skepticism in her eyes. She didn’t push further, but Bell knew she was still watching him carefully. The silence grew heavy as they both settled into the uneasy quiet of the helicopter.

Soon enough, the aircraft touched down with a jolt, snapping Bell back to the present. He unstrapped himself, grabbed his duffel bag, and followed Laswell and Nikolai out of the helicopter. The cool air outside hit him, clearing some of the fog from his mind.

 

 

Ahead of them, a warehouse loomed, its entrance open. The interior was dimly lit, filled with the hum of conversation. A large table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by chairs, and the walls were lined with shelves of files and weapons. Bell couldn’t help but whistle softly at the sheer amount of armament on display. Around the table stood several men in tactical gear. One was tall, wearing a skull mask that looked unnervingly realistic, another was shorter and stockier, with a mohawk. The others were similarly well-built, standing with their arms crossed in front of them, one with dark skin and a cap bearing the British flag, the other tall with a boonie hat and a rugged beard.

Laswell moved forward, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. “Welcome to Task Force 141, Bell.”

Bell took in the faces around him, each one hardened and purposeful. He could feel the weight of his past pressing down on him, threatening to break through. But for now, he swallowed it all down. He had a mission. And somewhere, in the shadows of this new world he had just entered, his nephew awaited.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3: After years your ghost still haunts me

Summary:

Bell starts to find his place within this new world but a ghost from his past throws a wrench in his somewhat perfect day.

The group quickly arrived at the entrance of the warehouse, where a man wearing a boonie hat walked toward them, offering a greeting. “Kate, Nik, good to see you,” he said, then turned to Bell, extending his hand. “Captain John Price. Nice to finally meet you, Bell.”His voice was professional but still carried a hint of authority. Bell shook his hand firmly, nodding as he spoke. “Likewise, Captain. I just wish the circumstances were better.”Price gave a slight nod before turning and walking alongside them toward the other men.

 

The captain began to introduce the others. “This is my lieutenant, Ghost; Sergeant Mactavish; and Sergeant Garrick,” he said, pointing to each individual. Ghost, the man wearing the mask, nodded in acknowledgment, followed by the man with the mohawk, Mactavish, and the final man, Garrick, who wore a cap.

Price addressed the group, his tone serious. “Makarov is armed and dangerous. A few weeks ago, he made off with massive gas stocks, remnants of Barkov’s research.”

As he spoke, the TV flickered to life, displaying images of the gas and Makarov. “The Konni group is his personal army, posing as a PMC. Right now, we have no new intel on where Makarov is or what he’s planning.”After a few moments of silence, Mactavish spoke, his voice filled with frustration. “Steamin' Jesus, and we had him right in our fucking hands.”Price’s face grew solemn as he turned to Mactavish. “I shouldn’t have stopped you,” he admitted, stepping toward the sergeant. Mactavish, still looking guilty, met his captain’s gaze. “It was the right thing to do at the time, Cap,” he said quietly.

Ghost’s voice broke the tension. “At the time,” he muttered, his tone taut.

Bell noted the unspoken bond between the men. It was clear they trusted each other implicitly. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a notification from Laswell’s laptop. She quickly opened it and clicked a few buttons. “Secure transmission, Pentagon ID,” she announced.

Nikolai, ever the skeptic, stood up. “I don’t have clearance. I’ll go,” he said, dismissively, but stopped when Price raised his hand. “No, Nik. Stay,” Price ordered.

Nikolai sat back down, and Bell observed the unspoken connection between the group, sensing that their history together ran deep.

 

Laswell connected the call to the TV. The screen flickered, revealing a man in a General’s formal uniform, his shoulders adorned with multiple badges and four stars. He addressed Laswell directly. “Kate, let’s talk.”

His voice was commanding and authoritative. Bell noticed Mactavish from the corner of his eye, rolling his eyes and resting his hands on his tactical vest. It was clear these men had worked together before, and it hadn’t gone well.

Price stepped forward as the General spoke. “I’ve been lookin' for you,” Price said, his voice tense and hostile. The General’s reply was swift and condescending. “John. It’s a family affair. Even better.”

Price’s annoyance was evident. “What do you want?” he asked sharply.The General leaned forward slightly, his voice shifting back to its authoritative tone. “Vladimir Makarov, same as you.”The General stepped back from the screen, allowing Laswell to speak. “Go on, General,” she prompted.

 

The General leaned forward again. “I got a lead on Makarov’s bankroll—”

Before he could finish, Mactavish interrupted angrily. “We’re not lookin' for money.”

Soap snapped, but the General quickly responded, “Soap. You find the money, you find the man.” Bell watched, confused. ‘What the hell kind of name is Soap?’ he thought to himself.

Soap, visibly irritated, leaned against the table, but before he could speak again, Garrick spoke up. “Where are you gettin' intel? Without an army, you’ve got nothin’,” he said, his eyes narrowing at the screen. Bell glanced at the TV again, noticing someone moving in the background. The figure stepped into view, and Bell's stomach dropped.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Even forty years in the future, he couldn’t escape him.

A name echoed in Bell’s mind, sending a chill down his spine. His body tensed as forgotten memories surfaced, bringing with them old pain. His hands clenched involuntarily, teeth gritting as he glared at the screen. The room was thick with tension, broken only by Soap’s growl. “Un-fucking-believable,” Soap muttered, standing up and nearly knocking his chair over. The arrogant voice of the man on the screen spoke again, a smug smile plastered on his face. “Soap... you miss me? Well, technically, you did, didn’t ya?”

The voice was unmistakable. Bell’s pulse quickened. It wasn’t Adler, but the man on the screen resembled him too much for Bell’s comfort. Ghost took a step forward, addressing Laswell. “Laswell, if you’re tracking this, let’s call an airstrike,” he suggested.

The voice on the screen responded with a sarcastic quip. “Ghost, that’s not nice.”

 

Soap, not willing to let the taunting slide, snapped back. “What the hell are you up to?" The man’s grin widened. “I’m up to doing my fucking job, kid. You should try it sometime. "Soap didn’t miss a beat. “My fucking job is to kill the enemy. Guess what you are?" It was clear that Soap’s hostility was directed squarely at the man on the screen. The General sighed, attempting to calm the situation. “Let’s keep this professional, boys,” he said. After a brief pause, the General continued. “Captain, let me paint you the bigger picture. You need Makarov in a pine box, and I’ve got the nails.”

Price looked at Laswell, then back at the screen. “In exchange for what?” she asked, her voice thin with suspicion.

“A way back,” the General replied immediately. Price shook his head, his stance tense. “No way. I’m not sending my men on a mission for him. He’s a fucking liar. Kate,” he growled.

 

Laswell responded with unwavering confidence. “I’m CIA, John. I know all about lies. The intel’s solid. "Despite Laswell’s reassurances, Price remained hesitant, shaking his head. Garrick, after a moment, spoke up. “Captain, we’ve done deals for intel before. This is no different.”

Soap stood up, his anger simmering. “He’s right. Road to hell or not, Garrick’s right,” Soap acknowledged.Price’s shoulders sagged slightly. He turned to Ghost. “We’ve got this, boss,” Ghost affirmed, his voice steady. Price's gaze shifted to Soap. “Johnny, you with me?” he asked. Soap gave a swift nod. “You know it, Lt.”Price turned to Bell, catching his eye. “And what about you, Bell? What do you take from this?” he asked, his tone suddenly more serious.

 

Bell was taken aback, surprised by the question. But after a brief moment of thought, he responded, “Little thing my old CO used to say. ‘Intel is better than pride.’ We get what we need, and let it be that. We make the best of the situation we’re in.”

Price nodded slowly before turning to Soap and Ghost. “Watch your backs out there,” he ordered. The two men gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Price turned to Bell and Garrick. “Gaz, Bell, you’re both with me,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Bell. “Let’s see how good you really are.”

Bell’s heart sank slightly at the captain’s words. A small voice in his mind wondered if he should’ve stayed a civilian. But now, there was no turning back.

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

(HI! I just want to say thank you to those who left kudos on this fic and I wanted to give you all a heads up that I will not be updating for a while because I'm entering the school holidays. Again thank you all for your support and I will try to update as fast as I can! thank you all again and I hope you all have a wonderful day or night!)

Chapter 4: The past will stay the same, even when you forget

Summary:

Bell goes on his first mission with TF141 Sargent Garrick and Captain Price that leads to him learning more about what his dear nephew has been doing. Oh and he also has a nightmare :)

Bullets hailed down on the helicopter, brushing the blades and making the aircraft spin in circles before crashing into the bushy terrain below. Bell gripped the sides of his seat fiercely, his nails digging into the metal as the chaos unfolded.

His body jolted as the helicopter landed upside down. A pounding pain surged in the back of his head as he looked out at the greenery surrounding the crash site. Shaking off the distortion, he took a shaky breath—only to be interrupted by a flurry of bullets aimed at the downed helicopter. He snapped his head toward the gunfire, seeing Vietnamese farmers armed with AK-47s raining fire down on them. Behind him, several loud bangs echoed. Bell turned to see who was returning fire and saw Adler, his face set in a grim expression. As Adler shot back, he shouted, "Goddammit, Bell! Get on that turret and return fire before we’re overrun!"

Bell didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly reached for the gunner's handles, aiming the weapon at the farmers.

B̵̟̘̎̀́é̶͇͙ĺ̸̼̆̚͜ļ̵̡̱̌̋͘?̴̜͓͗̂

B̸̹̿E̷̮̓Ļ̶͝L̸͙̍

 

The voice echoed through his mind, sending a shiver down his spine.

 

 

S̸̳̞̙͚̬̽́̾o̴̧͈̬͆͒̌̍͗͝ļ̸̡͓͍̹̪͎̙̠͇̥͊ͅd̶̺̤̘͈̟̙̦͑͂̈́̋͠ͅǐ̵̪̞̯̯͉̀̓̎̽̕͜͠ͅé̶̺͓̹́̈͌̉́̉̃͗̚̚̚̚r̵̨̘͚͓̠̦̪̙̽͛͋͝ ̷̛̩̺̪̘̘̫̬̞͐͛͗ẅ̴̢̥̜̣̬̩̘͈͚̮́̉͑̃̇ͅą̶̬̖̻̘̩̼̦̼̽̐̈́̉̃̋̇͠͝k̸̢̝̖͍͕͕̖̺͍͖͔̠̏̀̉̃͋̅͌̕è̵̼͕͈̗̲̫̑̓̇͛̕͘ͅ ̶̢̤͚̦̝̄̋̽̃̓̌̐͑̋́͋ͅů̴̳̗͒̉͋̌̌̌̉̏͆̂͝p̴̙͕̯̙̋̒͐̇̐͂̅̓̒͛̈͒̔!

 

A hand gripped his right shoulder, jolting him awake. He gasped for air, feeling the bell still ringing in his mind. His eyes snapped open, and he saw Price standing over him, holding his shoulder. Bell looked at his left hand—he was gripping Garrick's arm, just shy of breaking it. Immediately, he released it, breathing harshly.Garrick recoiled, rubbing his arm. Price's voice broke the silence. "You alright, Bell?"

Price was leaning close to him, a hand on his shoulder in a rare moment of comfort. Bell breathed heavily, leaning back against his bedpost. That's right. He wasn't in a jungle in Vietnam. He was back in a barracks, safe. Safe from the ghosts of the past."Yeah… yeah, I’m alright, Captain." Bell’s voice was shaky, distant. He glanced at Garrick, noticing his arm already bruising. "Fuck. Sorry, Garrick."

His voice cracked, and he realized how dry his throat had become, a dull ache settling in. Garrick walked over to a small nightstand in the corner, picked up a glass of water, and handed it to him. Bell reached forward, taking it gratefully and silently thanking him with a nod.

Price and Garrick moved to the side, watching him. The room was unnaturally silent until Price finally broke the tension. "So..." Price began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ghost and Soap's report came back. Turns out the intel Shepard had was solid. Soap and Ghost managed to pin down Makarov's financier, got some intel out of her, and got out alive. From what she said, he's been buying abandoned buildings for safehouses. We’ve got a new target. Makarov’s second in command will be in one of those compounds in Vostok. We get him, we cripple Makarov’s power."

Bell and Garrick listened intently as Price crossed his arms.

"Both of you get armored up. We're wheels up in ten," Price announced before turning and walking out of the barracks, Garrick following behind.Bell slowly peeled himself from the bed, becoming aware of the cold sweat dripping down his back. He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. He stood up and promptly banged his head on the metal bed above him.

"Ow!" Bell hissed, rubbing the back of his head. "Fucking Adler," he muttered, walking over to his duffel bag and pulling out his clothes, changing as he grumbled under his breath. "Fucking Adler, and the fucking MK-Ultra bullshit. Did I ask for this? No. No, I didn’t, but I still get the fucking nightmares."

He dressed quickly, adjusting the new uniform. It didn’t fit as well as his old one. It felt too... new, like he was a recruit all over again. But then, he wasn’t in the Army. He’d never been in the Army. He had been recruited by Perseus after his father died. His jaw clenched at the thought of Adler. He was still furious about the damn needle Adler had shoved into his eye all those years ago. Bell shook off the uncomfortable feeling, took a deep breath, and walked out of the barracks to grab more gear—some new, some old.

---

(Time Skip)

Cool air brushed past Bell’s face as he observed the building from his perch on top of another building. In the distance stood a multi-story structure towering toward the sky. He could spot Gaz and Price making their way toward the top, where he knew their target, Andrei Nolan, Makarov's second in command, was located.

Nolan was tall, muscular, and carried himself with confidence. Gaz and Price were swiftly handling the Konni soldiers. Gunshots rang out from the rooftop, and Bell provided support when needed, especially against the more heavily armored soldiers.Once they had cleared the rooftop and cornered Nolan, Price and Gaz knocked him out and clipped him into a harness. Bell stood up from his perch, securing himself back into his seat, and waited patiently for the helicopter to return to base with their new prisoner.

 

The ride back was uneventful—mostly just silence, the occasional grunt from Price, and the rumble of the engine beneath them. Nolan lay unconscious in the middle of the transport, and Bell leaned back against his seat, looking out the window as the ground sped by below.

It was a long and boring flight, but it was certainly better than the ride he had taken to Solovetsky. The pain and betrayal from that time had left deep scars, scars that would never fade. And if he ever saw Adler again, if the bastard was still alive, Bell knew what he had to do.

Consequences be damned.

The helicopter finally landed with a jolt on the concrete pad. Bell watched silently as Price hauled Nolan’s unconscious body over his shoulder, adjusting the restraints as he did. Without thinking, Bell tightened his grip on his rifle, though the sinking feeling in his chest remained.But he shook it off and stood up, keeping his body tight and firm—just like in the cadets. No. He wasn’t a cadet. He had been recruited by Perseus after his father’s death. The memory of that damn needle flashed in his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his left eyelid to stave off the sting.

Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Bell followed Price and Garrick into the base. They made their way toward a shipping container. Garrick stepped forward, pulling open the container with a rough tug, the hinges screeching in protest. Inside was a dimly lit room with a rusted metal chair in the back.

Bell winced at the sight of the chair, its surface stained with bodily fluids. The walls were adorned with a variety of tools: scalpels, knives, hammers, tweezers, wire cutters—all the instruments of a twisted interrogation. But there were a few others that Bell couldn’t immediately place. He metal scraping against metal snapped him back to attention as Price dragged Nolan toward the chair, strapping him in with the leather restraints. Price then stepped back and addressed Bell and Garrick. "Now we wait," he said, jumping down from the elevated platform.

 

Bell assessed Nolan's restraints, then stopped Price and Garrick before they could walk away. "No barbed wire?" Bell asked, raising an eyebrow.

Price shot him a confused look, glancing at Nolan. "Barbed wire?"

"Yeah," Bell replied nonchalantly. "Back in 'Nam, we used barbed wire to restrain prisoners with intel. Ropes, straps, zip ties—they worked, but the barbed wire got 'em talking quicker. Especially when they were a real pain in the ass."Garrick’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked between Bell and Price. "You fought in Vietnam?"

Bell nodded, his mind wandering to memories that never seemed to let him go, though he knew it wasn’t entirely true. It felt true. "Yep. My unit was there for a long time before we had to pack it up and head to Berlin. But... that's a story for another time."Price and Garrick exchanged looks, clearly still confused but not pressing further. Before long, they heard the rumbling of a car engine approaching, and all attention turned toward the sound. Ghost and Soap stepped out of an armored personnel transport vehicle, and Garrick immediately lit up, pulling Soap into a half-hug.

 

"Good to see you, mate," he grinned.

They all walked to the center of the room, where Price stood by the table. Bell was seated, watching Price with a keen eye."The intel you got was solid, boys. Well done." Price’s praise was genuine, and Bell could tell he truly cared for the men under his command. Then Price gestured to the shipping container. "And we didn’t come up empty-handed either."Soap quickly spotted the container and rushed over to look inside. His grin widened, and he rushed back to the table. "Fuckin’ hell, you managed to secure Makarov’s right hand?"

Price smirked and nodded. "We did. But we’re not interrogating him yet."

Ghost spoke up from the back of the room, his eyes on the container. "Held off on interrogating him, boss?"

 

Price puffed on his cigar. "Got him here a few minutes ago, Ghost. Thought we’d handle this like Las Almas... but with more forceful persuasion." At the mention of Las Almas, the room shifted. Bell could sense the tension rising. Ghost leaned in, a glint of dark amusement in his eyes. "Well then, what are we waiting for? Let’s get ourselves some intel."

"Aye. Let’s break this bastard," Soap grinned.

Bell couldn't shake the feeling that this was going to end badly. But as they all walked toward the container, he knew it was too late to turn back. The silence in the air felt ominous, as if this was only the beginning.

Notes:

Hello! I'm back, I hope that the wait wasn't to long this chapter is currently unedited so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Please tell me your thoughts in the comments! they motivate me to continue writing this fic and all your support and kudos is greatly appreciated! I hope you all have an amazing Day/Night stay safe!

(updated note) HI me again this chapter is now updated and edited and I am currently writing chapter 5, if you find any grammar errors or problems please tell me!

Chapter 5: Family is more than blood.

Summary:

Bells first modern interrogation and a glimpse of what his dearest nephew has planned next.

Nolan woke after Soap poured a bucket of cold water over his head he coughed and sputtered before fixing all of us with a steady hateful glare I noticed that when he saw me he deflated slightly his eyes flickering with defeat and Bell noticed how Nolan then fixed price with a glare that if looks could kill the captain would be dead.

Bell is standing in the corner closest to the entrance. Gaz and soap are standing in opposite corners behind Nolan. Ghost is leaning on one of the two tables, and Price is standing in front of Nolan's chair in the middle of the room.

Nolan's steady glare is fixed on Price as he speaks “*я тебе ничего не скажу, ублюдок.*”(I will not tell you anything, bastard)

he hisses before spitting at prices boots price huffs responding darkly “you haven't got many choices here boy. you’ll tell us what we want to know about Makarov and you’ll get out of this unscathed, do the opposite and I can't promise you’ll live.” price threatens calmly before taking a step back towards the other table that has several weapons laid out; he picks a hammer before slowly walking towards Nolan “question one. Where is Makarov?” Nolan stares at him not speaking a word price sighs

 

“Alright then. Hard way it is.” 

 

he brought the hammer down on Nolan's knuckles hard making an audible crack Bell winces slightly a the sound echoed slightly. Nolan gritted his teeth together trying not to scream as he jolted forwards trying to struggle and release the ropes binding him to the chair “fuck you.”

Nolan grits out as he grimaces in pain. Bell notices a slight Australian accent in his voice. Price shoves Nolan back in the chair his hand on Nolan's shoulder. 

“you want it to stop? Tell me. where. He. Is.” he demands Nolan spits on Price again this time the saliva lands on his face. Price steps back and wipes the spit off his face. Soap steps forward roughly shoving Nolan back and bringing a few punches down on Nolan's face before griping Nolan by his neck, no one moves to stop Soap. 

 

Nolan's face is now bloody and bruising. His brow is split and his nose it's most likely broken observing from the amount of blood pouring from it. Nolan gasp and wheezed in pain before cursing at soap “I won't tell you anything *пизда*” (cunt)

he chided breathing heavily. Bell slowly walk towards Nolan, his footsteps clinking against the floor. Nolan turns his attention towards Bell, soap steps aside towards the table ghost is still leaning against.

 

Nolan opens his mouth but before he can speak Bell grab's the fabric of his collar and throttle him forward leaning down to talk into his ear

“You have blind faith in a man that would throw you to the dogs the second he thinks you’ve betrayed him. Your loyalty to him is useless; we both know he doesn't trust a single soul that isn't himself. He doesn't trust you and yet you would burn the world down if he asked you. What has your loyalty brought you? It has only brought you pain and suffering and you will continue to suffer in his name if you do not tell us what we want.”

Bell explained calmly, gripping his bloodied shirt collar tight enough to rip it. 

 

Nolan didn't budge but even through his tough exterior Bell could see the slightest crack. Bell just needed to keep pushing.

 

Bell let out a soft sigh seeing that Nolan remains stoic and unbroken. Bell lean in again, speaking to him “The bigger question is…..would you die for a man and his cause when he holds no regard for your loyalty or you?”

Bell probes raising an eyebrow leaning back and looking at his reaction although outwardly he remains stubborn Bell can still see the flicker of the small break in his almost impenetrable shell, he was fighting with himself his loyalties flaking off like old paint. 

Bell releases his shirt collar standing back up straight

“Think about it Andrei.” Bell announced before nodding at a price who nods in return the other 141 members then begin to exit the container. 

Price then leaves Bell steps away from Nolan following Price out. But before Bell can reach the door nolan speaks up “*я никогда не думал, что кумир моего командира окажется предателем*.”

( I never thought my commander's idol would be a traitor.) he announced glaring at Bell the Russian words vibrated through Bell's mind and bell turned his head back towards Nolan slightly. 

 

“*скажи ему, что я поздоровался, когда ты в следующий раз увидишь его солдатом*.”

(tell him I said hello when you next see him, soldier.) bell responds his words although accented slightly convey the message perfectly as bell see's Nolan's eyes light up slightly. 

Bell exits the container, shutting the door behind him and locking it. 

Bell walks back to the center of the room where the rest of the team are sitting or standing soap is pacing back and forth Ghost is leaning on the table gaz is sitting down and Price is leaning over a computer screen as Bell approaches soap speaks up “What's our next step cap? We can't wait for him to crack.”

 Soap demands still pacing Bell looks at Price whos still leaning over the computer before he clicks a few buttons making a beep sound around the room a second beep follows quickly before lass well's voice vibrates through the room “what the state of play with Nolan?”

she inquires Gaz responds. 

“less conversational than he was…”

Price pies up from in front of the computer “More of the silent type now.”

after a pause Ghost speaks up “They’re at war with the world. That for sure.”

his voice is gruff and slightly angry Bell turns his body and looks at ghost and soap both are tense, Soap then speaks up “he got blind faith in Makarov.”

Soap hisses visibly agitated but he calms down slightly when Ghost places a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Makarov needs him.”

Kate provides her voice professional as always “Been contacting him nonstop. He knows something is wrong.”

she then connects to the large TV showing us the screen of Nolan's phone is filled with messages from Voldoya-Makarov. “You intercepted their coms.”

Gaz affirms surprised and joyful

“affirmative.”

 

Laswell responds before continuing “Nolan got quiet but his radio and phone speak volumes..”

she explains as the Russian texts continue to slide down the phone screen “What do we know?" 

Price asks leaning closer to the screen “They are delivering someone or something to an abandoned Soviet prison complex.”
Kate answers as the screen glows and shows an image of the complex. 

 

“Where?” Gaz asks not having to wait long for an answer

 

“Siberia.” Laswell answers the screen flicking to a map of the prison area “When?” price asks immediately

“Tomorrow.”

Laswell answers unflinchingly as I glance away from the screen looking towards Price who speaks after a short moment “This is our shot at Makarov.”
his voice is full of conviction and determination

“No guarantees he's there.” Gaz interjects trying to keep the captain at the moment but Price continues.

 

“I’ll take that chance.” He responds looking at Gaz but focused back on the computer when Kate says

“I knew you would…Nik can get you in and out”
She offered Price nods before glancing at all of us visibly thinking before speaking

 

“I want everyone on this. Including Farah. Next to Ghost she's the best sniper I know.”
he confined looking at all of us before looking back down at the computer Kate's voice cracks through again

 

 “you can pick her up on the way. I’ll relay.” Laswell says before price continues “we’ll need C4 and dry gear”
he lists off. Gaz then says “We're getting wet." he interprets turning his body towards Price

“So is Makarov." Price responds with his tone strong and determined. 

Bell looks around the room at the others seeing their determined faces and readied body stances. Bell feels himself standing a bit taller and more confident.

“Well then what are we waiting for?” He speaks up after a short silence Price looks up at me smiling, his eyes flickering with reverence before he speaks 

 

“Gear up boys. Wheels up in 30.” 

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait! I was sick for most of the week and I couldn't move either of my legs. I just want to apologize for the short chapter and I will hopefully be able to update again soon. Again I just want to thank you all for the support and kudos! your comments inspire me to continue this fic thank you all again stay safe and have a good night/day!

(I cant write interrogation scenes to save my life)

Chapter 6: The heart is cold but the soul is gold

Summary:

Bell meets a new face and completes a rescue mission all whilst hoping he was incredibly drunk or dead.

The cold tundra of Siberia bit into Bell's exposed face as he lay prone on a snowy hilltop surrounded by trees. On his left, Ghost was perched on a jagged rock, his eye glued to the scope of his sniper rifle. On Bell's right, also lying on the freezing forest floor, was Farah Karim, the commander of the ULf. Bell had only met her a few hours ago, but he knew without a doubt that Price trusted her implicitly.

Earlier that day…

The helicopter thudded to the ground with a rough landing as the door opened. Outside, the golden brown sands kicked up in the wind, swirling away from the makeshift landing pad. Bell watched as sparsely armed men and women walked toward the landing zone. One woman, leading the group, was more heavily armed and wore grey and white snow gear that stuck out like a sore thumb in the dry, sandy landscape. It didn’t take long for Bell to confirm his suspicions—it was Commander Karim.

She stepped into the helicopter, and Price's voice followed.

"Good to see you again, Farah," he said, his tone warm but with an underlying sense of urgency.

"Good to see you, Captain," she responded, her voice clear, firm, and laced with authority.

"Fighting the good fight?" Ghost asked rhetorically, receiving a sharp nod and a small smile from Karim.

She turned to Bell. "You must be Bell, correct?"

Bell shifted in his seat, a little caught off guard by her directness. "Yes, that's me."

She extended a hand, and he shook it. Her grip was firm and warm, a solid handshake that spoke of strength.

Current time…

Four heavily armed black trucks rolled out onto the frozen lake of ice, their engines rumbling, mixing with the shrill wind. Bell's balaclava itched against his face, the fabric rough on his cheeks. He exhaled through his nose, his breath misting in the frigid air.

The crackle of Ghost's comm came through Bell's earpiece, followed by Laswell's voice. "Watcher to 0-7, give me a sitrep."

Ghost adjusted his grip on his sniper rifle, angling it slightly as he responded. "0-7 in position with Kilo and Bell. Bravos in the water."

Laswell’s voice crackled again. "Copy. Where’s our incoming?"

Farah spoke up quickly, her voice calm and efficient. "Convoy approaching southeast. Four vehicles."

Bell watched the convoy steadily cross the frozen lake. Farah’s voice came through again. "Any sign of Makarov?"

Bell's grip on his weapon tightened. He tried to calm his nerves, adjusting his scope to zoom in on the front vehicle.

Farah responded. "No PID, but high security on the fourth vehicle."

Bell shifted his position slightly, watching intently through his scope. He exhaled, trying to steady his mind. "Ghost to all Bravo, how copy?"

Ghost’s voice crackled through the comm. "Solid. Here they come…"

His voice faded out, and then—

BOOM

A muffled explosion erupted from beneath the ice, shattering it and sinking the convoy. "All stations—good effect on target," Soap's Scottish drawl filled Bell's ear before Laswell's voice came through again.

"Rog, go to work. We need him alive," she ordered.

It felt like forever before Price's voice came through the comm once more. "All stations. No PID on Makarov. Just a prisoner." After a brief pause, he added, "Prisoner secure. Moving to the surface."

Laswell’s voice followed. "Standing by."

Bell watched as Price, Soap, and Gaz emerged from the broken ice, dragging the prisoner up with them. The prisoner’s face was covered with a grey sack. Farah spoke up beside Bell.

"Bell, go join them down there. We'll stay on overwatch."

Bell nodded, shifting his sniper rifle off his back and muttering, "Copy that." He sighed, carefully making his way down the steep slope, his boots thumping against the snow and dirt as he ran to join the others, who had taken refuge by a snowbank near the tree line.

Price grunted as Bell helped him out of the water. Once Price steadied himself, he reached for his comm. "Six to Watcher. No Makarov. Target was not in the convoy. Prisoner has been intercepted and secured."

Bell turned to Soap and the prisoner, not hearing Laswell’s response over the comm but catching Price’s reply. "Stand by."

Bell watched as Soap yanked the sack off the prisoner’s head, revealing a familiar face.

"Steamin’ Jesus!?" Soap hissed, glaring at the prisoner.

Bell stepped aside to see who it was. "MacTavish..? What the fuck?"

The prisoner coughed, wheezing and spitting out water.

It was General Shepard. The same man from the screen.

Price rushed forward, gripping Shepard by the collar of his shirt and dragging him up. "Fuck… Is there a single shitshow that you're not a part of?"

Price’s voice was full of disbelief, and Soap reached for his comm. "Ghost, you seeing this?" he asked, hostility boiling in his voice.

Ghost’s voice quickly responded through the comm. "In my sights."

Soap unsheathed his sidearm, cocking it back with a hiss. "Let's smoke him and call it a day."

Soap turned toward Price, waiting for the go-ahead. But before anything could happen, Laswell’s voice crackled over the comm. "Six, who do you have?"

Price's growl came through as he pressed the comm again. "Gold-fucking Eagle actual."

If looks could kill, Shepard would have been dead just from the glare Price gave him.

"Shepard?" Laswell's voice carried a hint of shock.

Bell glanced to the side, watching Soap take a few menacing steps toward Shepard. Soap raised his comm and spoke into it, his tone low and angry. "In the cold flesh."

"Holy shit," Laswell’s muttered reply echoed in the radio.

Bell tightened his grip on his weapon, scanning the frozen landscape around them. They were exposed, and if a scouting party came to investigate the now-destroyed convoy, they didn’t have much time before they were discovered.

Gaz spoke up from the corner of Bell’s vision, his voice low. "Cap, we're sitting ducks out here."

Price stepped past Shepard. "Then let's move him."

Soap grabbed Shepard by the shoulder, shoving him toward the treeline.

---

After a short walk, Soap pushed Shepard up against a thin, frosty tree. Price stood beside him, leaning forward and glaring at the general. "Why are you here?" he demanded.

Shepard leaned his head back against the tree, breathing heavily. "They're hunting us, John… They got to me first."

Price shook his head, disbelief creeping into his voice. "What did you trade for your life?"

Shepard’s retort came quickly, "Not a goddamn thing."

Before Price could respond, he let out a sharp chuckle. "Bollocks," Price muttered, taking a small step back but not giving Shepard any room to move.

"I'm a four-star United States general," Shepard declared, using his rank as defense.

Soap raised an eyebrow. "And they kept you alive?"

Bell couldn’t help but agree with Soap. "Let’s toss this fucker back in the lake," he muttered under his breath.

But before anyone could act on that, Shepard spoke again, his voice cold. "I know Makarov's next target."

Price scoffed. "You didn't even know you were the fucking target."

Shepard pushed back, "You were chasing your tail before I stepped in!"

Soap growled, his temper rising. "Give it to us, then…" he demanded.

Shepard remained unfazed, even outnumbered and outgunned. "You get me out of here first."

Just then, the radio crackled to life again, Laswell’s voice cutting through the static. "All stations. I'm tracking Helios inbound north. Ten clicks out."

Bell moved quickly, glancing between Soap and Shepard before seeing Gaz step toward Price. The radio crackled once again, and Farah's voice filled the comm. "What’s the call, Bravo?"

Bell hesitated for a moment before stepping up next to Price, hearing part of their conversation. "The oligarch intel was solid. Even if he's lying to us now, we can still use him. We dump him, we're walking away with nothing."

Gaz proposed his plan, his voice calm and deliberate.

Bell spoke up, offering his insight. "He might be full of shit, but it’s not likely he’s lying. Soviet prisons had more than one use. Makarov is most likely using it for interrogation. They might have roughed him up before transport, but not enough to break him."

Price let out a long sigh, turning back to Soap and Shepard. Bell stood by, his eyes scanning the frozen landscape. Gaz spoke into his comm again.

"Ghost, Farah, push to the exfil point," Gaz ordered. Ghost’s short "Rog" crackled through the comm, followed by, "Watcher, tell Nik we're plus one."

Bell smirked, standing a bit straighter. He turned just in time to see Shepard nudge Soap off him. Soap reluctantly stepped back, and then Shepard spoke up.

"That's more like it. Now… how ‘bout a jacket and a gun?"

Price and Soap both replied in unison. "No."

But Gaz, ever the pragmatist, stepped in. "Let’s add the gun. We could use the help."

Soap and Price exchanged questioning looks, but they didn’t object.

"Alright," Price finally relented. "Give him a thermal and a sidearm."

Gaz grabbed a thermal from the back of his kit and a sidearm. As he handed the gun to Shepard, Price stopped him, leaning forward with a dangerous glare.

"You stick with Gaz. One wrong move, and I put a hole through you," Price threatened, his eyes burning with intent.

Bell sighed. "Alright, now that you're done, can we start moving?"

He received several glares from the group.

"What?" he asked, exasperated.

 

 

Notes:

I'm back! sorry for the long wait, updates on this will be slow. BUT if you want to see some of my other work and see fic updates I have an Tumblr account! (perry-the-platypus-f1cs)

Thank you all for your support! your comments and kudos help me with continuing this fic so thank you all so much!

Chapter 7: Warm allies, Cold enemies.

Summary:

Bell begins another mission against his new enemies with his new allies And is given a chance to reconnect with his old allies.

Notes:

HELLO! I hope you enjoy this new chapter! Thank you all for the kudos and support, your comments give the motivation to continue this fic. thank you all again and i will hopefully have another chapter up soon! stay safe and have a good day/night!

—----------------------------------------(0600 hours)--------------------------------------------------------

The snow crunched softly under Bell's boots as he walked at the back of the group, gripping his rifle at the ready, his eyes tracing the various trees casting grey shadows against the snowy white background. Speckles of darker grey emerged from the snow in the form of jagged rocks and small stones.

He kept his head swaying from side to side, maintaining awareness of his surroundings, ensuring the others were safe. It was a strange feeling, he had to admit. Being in a team again felt oddly nice—knowing that when he had their backs, they had his. The security and unity felt almost alien, an odd sense of belonging. But like he said, it was nice, maybe even more than that.

Bell blinked his eyes, focusing on the heated short conversation between the general and the others. He found himself trying to suppress his snorts when the general was simultaneously shushed by the team. But the almost humorous atmosphere was cut short as the buzzing of helicopter blades echoed overhead.

He quickly skidded behind cover, a nearby tree stump, as did the others, hiding behind trees, rocks, and anything the terrain offered. He heard Soap's voice over the radio.

“Konni helo dropped some shooters. Got 'em on thermal. 11 o'clock.” Bell leveled his scope with his eye, the thermal lens illuminating the soldiers' bodies with a yellow tinge. Then he heard the general's grating voice over the radio.

“They're looking for me.” The general sighed. Bell rolled his eyes as he slowly tracked the soldiers with his scope as they walked past. He heard Price, only a few meters to his left, mutter, “Got half a mind to let 'em find you…”

Bell moved away from his spot, following the captain over a small frozen stream and behind a fallen log, lying in a prone position. The barrel of his rifle only slightly stuck up over the log.

“We should take 'em out now...” the general spoke, his unwanted advice flying over everyone's head. Unsurprisingly, Soap spoke up.

“You should shut the hell up...” Soap muttered quietly enough to be heard by the general but not loud enough to alert the enemy. Garrick, ever the voice of reason, spoke next to Price.

“Either way, we need a call now, captain.”

Bell turned his head to look at Price, waiting for his response.

“We can stay low, let 'em pass.” Price instructed. Bell nodded slightly, looking back through his scope as the soldiers continued walking further east into the dense trees—and more importantly, away from them.

To his right, Bell heard the general grumble. “We should’ve engaged them already.”

He sighed out of his nose, wishing the general would just shut up.

“Put a cork in it, general,” Price demanded sharply, as the soldiers continued to walk past, their footsteps crunching through the snow.

Bell shifted his position, bringing his rifle down from the top of the log and holding it against his chest. He risked a glance above the log and shifted into a sitting position.

“They’re moving on. Are we clear?” Bell asked, turning his head to watch Price brush snow from his exposed beard.

“Clear,” Price nodded, standing up and over the fallen log.

Bell pushed himself up and followed the captain, occasionally looking behind him to see if Soap, Gaz, and the general were following their lead.

“Should’ve killed them when we had the chance, John,” the general piped up, shivering from the harsh cold.

Bell watched Price shake his head, tightening his grip on the M4 in his hands.

“If I want your advice, I’ll ask,” Price bit back, his breath turning to mist as he spoke, snow already collecting on his beard again. “Let’s not forget we wouldn't be here if you hadn’t been caught,” Price continued, marching through the dense forest as they walked. Silence stretched through the desolate forest, almost too quiet.

BANG.

The sharp sound of a gunshot echoed through the forest, followed by a yell from Price.

“Weapons free!” he shouted as Bell dove for cover behind a large angular rock close to the frozen stream. Another loud gunshot rang through the air. Bell quickly brought his thermal scope to his eyes, scanning the area for heat signatures. In the distance, he heard a yell. It was Price.

“Sniper!”

The shout drew Bell’s attention to the other operators, who were hidden behind fallen trees and jagged rocks. Another yell, this time from Gaz.

“Konni’s punchin’ up behind us!”

Bell turned his body, spotting Gaz opening fire into the trees. Soap had a tight grip on the general’s shoulder, taking cover behind a large rock face. Price was taking cover behind a large fallen tree, returning fire. Bell became very aware of how exposed he was.

Without wasting time, he leveled his scope with his eyes and opened fire on the illuminated bodies of the enemy, gunshots ringing in his ears as the bullets collided with the targets, sending them falling to the floor.

“Any visual on the sniper?” Bell yelled out to the group, receiving an answer from Soap.

“Negative, nothing on thermals.”

Bell reloaded his weapon, straightening himself up and pressing his side against a nearby tree. He turned his head to the right and saw Soap and Price surveying the area safely behind trees.

“Gaz, Bell. Watch Sheppard. Me and Soap will deal with the sniper.”

Price commanded before he and Soap moved out from behind the trees, hopefully heading toward the enemy sniper. Bell exhaled, his hot breath steaming the chilling air.

“Roger that,” he sighed before breaking into a run toward Gaz and the general, both leaning against a sloped snowy hill.

He slid in next to Gaz, leaning his back against the hill. Bell turned his body to look at Price and Soap through his scope as they entered a firefight with the enemy sniper. Even from here, the loud gunshots could be heard until they stopped, and Bell heard Price's voice over the com.

“Sniper’s down. We’re clear.”

Bell pushed himself off the hill and quickly jogged up to the captain, Sergeant Gaz, and the general following behind him.

“Nice shot,” Bell whistled in appreciation before they continued trekking through the snow, the silence only broken by the crunch of snow under their feet.

“This is a fuckin’ shit sandwich. Your intel better be good, general,” Soap hissed through his teeth, still forcefully marching his way through the snow.

“My intel is always good, Soap. You’ll get it when I’m out of here,” the general replied, trailing behind Bell and Gaz.

Bell rolled his eyes, wishing he had stayed with Ghost and Farah.

—------------------------------------(0900 hours)------------------------------------------------------

The environment grew harsher the closer they got to the exfil point. They engaged many Konni operatives, but despite the chilling weather and being outnumbered 7 to 1, they managed to reach the exfil point, still battling Konni operatives.

The loud banging of gunshots and screams filled Bell's ears, the hot sweat on his back mixing with the melting snow. Then, suddenly, the loud buzz of helicopter blades cut through the air overhead, and the radio on his shoulder buzzed to life.

“LZ is clear!” Farah announced into the radio.

Bell slowly stepped out from his cover point to notice that the gunshots had stopped, as had the screams. He let out a heavy exhale, not realizing he'd been holding his breath, the fog creating in the cold air. He stood up on slightly shaky legs but pushed himself forward into a jog as he saw the others board the helo. Price kept the door open, holding a hand out, which Bell took.

He was pulled into the helo.

“All in?” Nik asked from the pilot's seat, getting a quick answer from Price.

“Affirm. Get her up!” Price yelled. Another buzz vibrated through Bell's radio. Nik’s voice echoed on the radio.

“Laswell, six on deck, we’re RTB.”

“Copy that. Fly safe.”

—---------------------------------------------(1100 hours)------------------------------------------------------

The descent of the helicopter kicked up the snow in the desolate landing zone. In the isolated meadow, another helicopter rested, with a silhouette standing in front of it.

Bell jumped down from the helo’s entrance after everyone had exited. He saw Price turn around.

“Put him here,” he pointed to the ground. Gaz and Soap pushed the disgraced general to the ground.

“What the hell’s this?” the general demanded, outrage and confusion lacing his voice.

“The crossroads,” Price answered, as the general pushed himself up from the ground.

“Laswell…” the general muttered, standing up. “Without the stars and bars, you look like frozen shit, general.”

Kate said mockingly, holding her hands in front of her. The general turned and saw that he was surrounded, with one task force member on each side.

“The best of the best... all in one place,” the general mused, looking around himself. Gaz spoke up, staring darkly at the general.

“With one glaring exception.”

The general turned, looking from one member to another. “What is the agenda of this little pow-wow?” he asked, turning to look at Price, but Soap spoke up behind him, his tone clipped.

“A choice.”

The general spun around to look Soap in the eye. “Do I have one?”

“No,” Ghost barked harshly.

The general fell silent for a moment, musing over his options. “I’m all ears…” he cautioned, straightening up a bit, his nervousness standing out like a fish in a school of sharks.

Laswell stepped forward slightly. “Own up... tell us everything…” she demanded, watching as the general turned to her.

“You know everything.”

He snapped, defending what little honor he had left, but Laswell continued pushing.

“Congress doesn’t. And I’d bet they’d be—”

Price stepped in, cutting her off before she could finish. “They’d be all ears, wouldn’t they?” he said, smiling as his beard made him look like a pleased quokka.

The general looked terrified but seemingly bit it down. “That’s it?” he asked, hoping they wouldn’t push for anything else. He was wrong.

“No,” Farah spoke, adding to the demand. “You clear my name, tell them who I am, what you gave me, and why.”

Farah stepped diagonally, leaning his left shoulder towards the general. “No one had the balls to do what I did for you… for all of you.”

The general retorted desperately, clawing to get himself out of the metaphorical grave he dug for himself. “Then do the right thing, general.”

Gaz spoke up again, his voice eerily calm and collected, the opposite of Soap’s rough, angered tone. “All your intel on Makarov, and your boy Graves on a leash.”

Bell shifted his feet in the fallen snow, raking his eyes over the other members of his not-so-new teammates. If he was going to say anything, now was the time. Either demand answers, intel, or even money wasn’t a bad idea, but he needed to make the decision soon.

And so he did.

“Also, all the intel you have on Perseus. If you want specifics, try after 1989.” His demand landed at the bottom of the long list of things the general needed to accept and do… quickly.

The general turned to Bell, his brows furrowing in confusion and slight interest, probably wondering why a task force operator never seen before would demand intel on a presumably long-dead Soviet spy ring. Bell hoped, and prayed, the general could get him what he needed.

Laswell finalized their demands, speaking confidently. “Say yes. You get a warm ride home…” she said, letting that option sink in. Then Soap spoke up.

“Or take a little ‘me time’... and freeze to death.” he threatened, his words hanging heavily in the air.

“That’s the one I’m partial to,” Ghost grunted slightly, adding fuel to the fire.

The general’s brows knit together as he took a tentative step back, shifting his gaze from each member before focusing on Price.

“Keep the prisoners on their own self-preservation, and eventually, they’ll break,” he said, nodding his head. Price grinned, chuckling.

“Good to see you remembered your training, eh, general?” Price said, his face turning from seemingly pleased to serious as the general took several steps toward Price, staring him down.

“You screw me on this, John... and you’ll be sorry you kept me alive.” The general and the captain’s eyes locked, sizing each other up and glaring into each other’s souls.

Price jerked his head toward the waiting helicopter, the command clear. Gaz stepped forward, grabbing the general’s shoulder far softer than Price or Soap would have liked, taking the general toward the open and waiting doors of the smaller helicopter. Soap grabbed the general’s other arm, helping Gaz secure him.

Price quickly moved toward the larger helicopter, barking a harsh command.

“Let’s move.” he growled, walking quickly, leading the others as they followed behind him. Bell glanced around at the densely packed treeline, his eyes gazing across the snow. He sighed and followed the others into the helo.

—-------------------------------------------1400 hours—-------------------------------------------------

The lowly illuminated operations and meeting room was desolate and quiet… for the most part. Bell sat, leaning back in a small metal chair, the connecting bolts digging into his back as he looked up at the illuminated TV screen. The other operators were spread out within the room, leaning on walls, chairs, and the small table covered in files, bullets, guns, and other supplies. The corner of the screen flickered, an image of Laswell popping up, her voice flickering through the speakers.

“Alright, general, what have you got?” she asked, and Bell could mentally see her leaning forward towards her screen.

“Makarov aims to finish what he started in Verdansk.” The general’s voice came through the speakers. An image of Makarov appeared, along with a general image of Verdansk, before zooming in on a bird’s eye view of the city.

“He’s ordered Konni to strike the Gora Dam at nightfall.” The image on the TV changed to an image of the front of the Dam.

“If he blows the dam, it’ll wash the whole city away.” Soap hissed angrily from the seat next to Bell, the bird’s-eye view of the city simulating what would happen if Makarov succeeded and the damage it would cause.

“Countless lives will be lost,” Gaz sighed, his shoulders slumped as he leaned against a nearby closet.

“If he follows the playbook, he’ll pin the blame on Farah and the West,” Price added, taking a step toward the screen, inspecting every single small detail.

Bell let out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his hair, tugging at the knots that had formed.

“Unless we stop it,” Ghost spoke up from a nearby seat behind Bell. He sounded almost confident.

Bell sighed again. “It’s a classic false flag op. If he keeps playing the blame game like this, then we don’t have a lot of time before another cold war sparks up.” He turned to look at Price. “You handle the dam. Alex and my soldiers tracked Konni to an airship in Northern Urzikstan.”

Farah’s voice came through the speakers. “We believe it’s Makarov’s forward operating base,” she continued, her voice crackling through the speakers. The screen zoomed in on an aerial picture of the base.

“I’ll be leading up an assault there in the morning.”

Farah finalized, and the screen flicked back to the main screen.

“Your forces can’t go it alone,” Price said, leaning forward against the table.

“They won’t. Shadow will provide air support,” Sheppard piped up, another image on the screen of an AC130 in the air.

Bell turned to look at Price, an eyebrow raised. From what he'd heard, Graves wasn't exactly trusting. Soap was also looking at the captain, his eyebrows creased in confusion and rage.

“We can’t let Graves rain fire danger close to Farah and her troops,” Soap said, as if the very idea offended him personally. And from what he’d told Bell, it might as well.

Farah spoke up. “I trust shadow overhead,” she defended, her tone tight as it crackled through the speakers, cutting out occasionally.

“You told me to keep Graves on a leash, and that’s what I’m going to do,” the general spoke up, his voice cutting through the speakers.

Bell turned to look at Price and saw him lower the cigar that was nestled between his lips.

“Keep it real short, general,” Price demanded, exhaling the dark cloudy smoke through his nose.

“You really do want a win,” Gaz said, calmly crossing his arms.

“You’re damn right I do,” the general answered, his voice tight and closed off.

Price then spoke, formulating the plan of action.

“Gaz and I will deploy with Farah. Bell will be on overwatch with shadow. Soap and Ghost will take the dam.”

Price finalized, and Ghost gave a sharp nod, his response short and sharp.

“Rog.”

Laswell spoke up. “Nik will provide transport. I’ll put a predator up for eyes.”

She finished, and additional pictures appeared on the screen—one of a predator drone and the other of Nik’s helo.

“Don’t get compromised,” Price said to the team, caution tinged in his voice.

“We won’t, sir,” Soap affirmed, and Bell could see him nodding at Price and Ghost out of the corner of his eyes.

“Another thing,” Shepard added.

“The last piece of intel surrounding Perseus was a report that the leader had died of cancer in 1981. Later reports stated that the remaining Perseus operatives aligned under another leader who was later imprisoned. The rest of the operators were reportedly seen fleeing to Laos.”

The general piped up, drawing Bell's attention back to the screen.

“Let’s worry about that later,” Price said automatically, focusing on the problem at hand.

“Keep your guard up and stay sharp. Good luck, everyone,” Farah said before she disconnected from the meeting.

Bell sat up, leaning back in the small metal chair. He twisted his torso to look at the other task force operators who were leaning against the table, wall, or sitting in a chair. Soap, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed himself off it and stepped forward, placing both of his hands on the table before speaking.

“Well then. Let's get going.”

And so they sat—heroes to be, all leaving to fight against a well-known villain. At least, that’s what Bell thought.

Chapter 8: Gas, Gas, Gas

Summary:

Bell gets a look into what Shadow company is and finds out an itty bitty secret.

The warm golden sun beats down on the dark concrete of the airstrip, the large aircraft looming over the mechanics and pilots attending to the machines.

Bell walks briskly, eyeing everyone who passes from what he's heard about this ‘shadow company’.

It didn't exactly leave a good first impression, especially if their commander stays the arrogant asshole that he saw on the debrief screen.

Bells walks along the large airstrip with Garrick next to me along with Farah and Alex Keller, a CIA operative that he has just recently met a few moments ago. Alex seems down-to-earth and strategic. 

 

The heat of the beating sun creates beads of sweat on his brow.

Bell wipes the sweat away with the back Of His hand.

Despite being here for a few days, Bell is still unused to the heat.

He silently hope to myself that this will all be over soon. 'What will I do after this? I don't know, but hopefully, it’ll be somewhat peaceful.'

 

He brings himself back from his thoughts to see the same blonde-haired blue-eyed bastard from the screen walking towards them with a smirk lighting up his features. Gaz turns to Bell and whispers “This is where I leave you mate.”

he says apologetically Bell just nods giving Gaz a pat on the shoulder as Gaz turns and joins Price who is walking towards a parked helo, presumably Nikolai’s judging by the busted up look and terrible paint job.

Returning his attention to the PMC commander who has started to approach us more quickly chuckling

“Yeah! we ready to rumble?” He extends his hand and shakes Farah's hand as she says “This is a joint operation, Ulf..141…and shadow..together as one.”

Graves now stands in front of bell, his hand extended. Bell looked down at his hand before looking back up at him

“Names Philip Graves.. I don’t think we’ve met.” he asserted tilting his head slightly his deep blue eyes glinting in the golden light as he looked down at the 141 patches secured on my uniform.

 

“We haven't,”

Bell answers, his tone clipped as he rests his hands behind his tac vest pocket that displays the 141 patch.

The commander then slowly lowers his hand giving a short hum and a quick sigh he seemed somewhat disappointed.

He then turns to Farah and Alex gives them a short nod in respect before twisting his body back to me

“Well. You're riding with me for this op. until the general needs you on the ground.”

He informs Bell walking towards an Ac130 speaking over his back expecting me to follow.

Bell turned to Farah and Alex, an eyebrow raised a silent question filling the air. The only response he gets is a shrug from Farah and a nod from Alex. 

 

And so Bell follows the commander into a packed AC130 monitors line the wall on one side with attentive soldiers sitting in front of them 

on the other side is a series of chairs with various straps and buckles scattering on the seats, the commander then sits down in one the seats behind the majority of the attended monitors.

 

Bell takes a seat on the outer ends of the seats closest to the small jumping door that he will presumably be jumping out of hopefully soon.

The main doors close and are locked when the commander's radio clicks on “ready for APU start?”

a male voice clicks through and Graves responds quickly with a short “cleared.”

one of the soldiers on a monitor speaks up “moving to engine check.” as their fingers quickly click on several keys a short “check” is heard over the comm loudspeaker, another voice speaks up over the plane's loudspeaker “good start.” 

Now closer to me another soldier on a monitor speaks up “Shadow is loaded.”

he speaks leaning into the small mic hooked onto his helmet. Graves speaks up once again

“Control how to copy?” he asks leaning back into his seat he receives a quick answer “Cleared for taxi shadow.”

the voice answers, sparking a grin from Graves “Roger that. Let's fly.”

he smirks as the plane swiftly joins forward and then the plane lifts off the ground, soaring into the sky, gliding through the clouds and the golden sunset.

 

After a few minutes in the sky, the commander stood from his seat “Coms get me the general!”

he commands walking forward and leaning over the shoulder of another soldier who was vigorously clicking on the monitor keyboard “Shadow to gold eagle, candle is lit”

he says unbuckling himself from his seat to lean forwards towards the monitors awaiting a response, “go get him shadow.” is the generals quick response before the comms cut out.

 

Graves nods seemingly hyping himself up before addressing the entire plane “Shadows! Listen up. I know we’ve had a hard year, but. We gotta keep going! Now Makarov and his Konni boys are held up in the base we are about to attack, as well as some nasty-ass gas that could wipe out the US and Europe. It's up to us to make sure that does not happen. Now, are we good to get some!"

His speech is returned with a sharp, quick “YUP YUP!” from all the assembled soldiers minus myself.

Bell finds himself smirking slightly at their enthusiasm and the pride they have for their commander, but that expression is quickly whipped from him face as Graves walks over and sits down on the seat next to Bell leaning his back against the thin padding of the seat,

they sit there for a solid two minutes neither of them daring to break the silence the only sound being the buzzing of the plane engine and the clicking of the monitor keyboard.

The silence is then broken by Graves coughing into his hand sighing and then turning to bell his eyebrows creased

“so….you didn’t exactly introduce yourself back there.”

he said turning his body towards me his curiosity as bright and annoying as a flashbang bell looks away from the not so interesting wall I was staring at to look at him

“Bell.” he answers with a clipped and cutting tone. If anything Soap ranted and raved about this man was correct, bell would find out how accurate his shit-talking skills are. 

 

Graves nods once “Okay…is that like your callsign or name?”

He is trying to push for more than just one-word answers.

bell looks at him, really looks at him before he answer “My name's Bell. and it's my callsign.”

  he responds just now noticing how much Graves looks like Adler, bell got a glimpse from our technically first meeting but now he's seeing things that he hasn't before, like how Phillip's nose and jaw are the same as Adler's and how his thin messy hair is the same as Adlers. 

 

Hell, even the glasses dangling from his tac vest look exactly like…..Adlers….

 

Bells shifts up slightly, correcting his slumped posture.

“Uhm.. where-where did you get those?” he asks, pointing to the shades, the golden rim contrasting with his black gear and glinting softly in the dim light.

When bell asks Graves seems taken aback but he answers nevertheless “Oh these?”

He asks plucking them out of his uniform and running his fingers along the golden rim

“Yeah my old man gave ‘em to me before I up and left for the military, said some shit about how they're a good luck charm, apparently these protected him in Vietnam….which you fought into right? At least that's what your dossier said.”

he questions leaning forward more and resting his head on his hand. 

 

Bell's shocked and it must show in his uncovered eyes because Graves smirks leaning in once again

“The general sent me a declassified version of your file. I gotta say you’ve got quite the resume.”

he says smiling his eyes flickering with slight awe, the kind you would see in a child meeting a hero.

bells smiles slightly exhaling out of his nose, shuffling his hands in his lap, the newfound information buzzing in his skull, he does not doubt that this is Adler's son….

The thought seems unreal, the mere belief that a monster like Russell Adler could even have or raise a child is bizarre, a foreign unsupported possibility that has now become his very reality, here he is 40 years ahead of his time, sat next to the son of the man who broke him, turned hi  into a shell of a human, an obedient dog to Adler's wants and demands.

 

Is Adler even alive anymore? Will his rage still boil in him if he isn't? Will he feel relief? Would he cry? Does he even have it in him to cry anymore?

he asks himself the questions roaring over and over in his mind drumming into his conscience, zoning his mind out of my current situation only to be brought back by one of the soldiers on a monitor speaking up

“Commander we're closing in on the target point.” The soldier says his voice cracking through the shell of my thoughts snapping my form.

Bell flinches slightly, the action being unnoticed by Graves and the other soldiers. Graves turns to Bell smiling

“You better get ready for the jump, your friends on the ground will need help disarming that gas.”

He says chuckling before quickly patting his shoulder and uncliping himself from his seat and walking up to the soldiers with the monitors the comm flicking on the loudspeaker.

His words finally register themselves in Bells minds and bell quickly opens the large duffel bag that he stored under his seat when he got on the plane.

Bell quickly equipped several knives and checking the FN SCAR that he had brought with him.

Bell unloads the rifle's mag, checking the ammo before reloading it back into the chamber resting the gun against his chest and leaning back, and shifting his position in the rather uncomfortable grey seat.

Grave’s voice vibrates in the small space before echoing slightly on the radio

“Gold eagle to Actual. Shadow-1 is on station.” Graves grips the back of a monitor soldier's chair, his finger digging into the leather waiting for the general's response.

“ shadow-1 ground team is at point boneyard.” Shepard speaks his voice cracking through the comm.

Bell raises his head tilting it so he can hear the radio better

“You’ll provide air cover while they locate the chemicals and hunt down Makarov.”

he feel his gut sink slightly at the generals words. Graves gives a quick “copy, Actual.” as the plane tilts, circling the large base below, Makarov's base……

 

The flashes of who he was before Adler, before Arash, Before Perseus are quick and fleeting but in all of them he sees the same thing, a small boy whose smile could light up any room and how kind and sweet he was.

Was. He was kind. But now? He’s just another enemy, a singular target at a gun range. Bell just hopes it's not his bullet that hits. 

 

 

—---------------------------------------several hours Later….------------------------------------------------

 

Bell felt as though he had gone deaf after the first few artillery rounds left the planes' cannons as it circled the base below the clinking of the machinery being reloaded and the cheerful encouragement from Graves towards the Shadows working and reloading the machine was just another harsh sound in the orchestra of loud noise. 

Slowly but surely the orchestra of noise dims down to a halt.

Graves turns to Bell from his position once again behind a monitor seat before announcing

“This is your drop-off Bell! The ground team will meet you at the western warehouses."

"They haven't disarmed the gas yet…and I've got a sinking feeling that something is wrong, the second you disarm that gas, that warehouse will be blown sky high as soon as we know there's no threat.”

He informs Bell giving him a sharp nod as the jumping latch opens the wind swishing fiercely. 

Bell lets out a sigh turning to Graves “happy flying.”

he says with a crisp salute that Garves mirrors before leaping out of the hatch. bells hold his weapon tightly to his chest as the wind soars past him as he descend from the air.

He gets closer and closer to the ground he pulls the cord to his parachute jolting me up slightly as the wind catches on the fabric knocking the wind from his lungs he breaths through his nose as he descends gliding downwards towards the now destroyed base of operations.

Piles of metal and small fires litter the beige and grey ground like shells on a beach.

Bell landed on the ground more roughly than he would have liked but he's done and seen worse. 

Bell gets up off the sandy dry ground, unclipping himself from the parachute and gripping his rifle to his chest as he run as fast as he can to the wherehouse.

Luckily bell landed close by but he still ran with urgency.

As Bell approached the warehouses he pushed past the charred metal door making it creak loudly alerting the others to his position Farah then came running around the corner her gun raised before she quickly pushed the muzzle of the gun towards the ground when she recognized bell

“you missed out on all the action Bell” she says smiling he huffs chuckling a bit “yeah well I didn't exactly enjoy the show.”

Bell said straightening up and checking his gun for any damage “So where’s this gas?” he asks, raising his head.

Farah nods quickly, turning “Follow me.” She commands quickly, making him stumble after her across the airstrip towards the second warehouse, its fabric roof torn in places and metal pillars slightly bent from artillery impacts.

“We’ll need all hands on deck if we're going to dismantle this much gas…it's more than what we had originally thought.” She explains her eyes distant and hazed before turning focused and determined as she leads bell deeper into the warehouse towards towering barrels presumably filled with whatever kind of gas Makarov was using.

 

As Bell approaches one of the first barrels Price and Gaz are both somewhere to his left and Farah and Alex are somewhere on his right.

Bell crouched down noticing that one of the large emblems on the gas canister seemed to be peeling off the worn red sticker revealing what seemed to be another branding sticker.

a dark void of black contrasting against the rustic red. he reach his gloved hand out grasping the worn branding sticker by the edge and quickly rip it off revealing the hidden black emblem.

 

bell jumps back at the sigil he sees, once hidden under a sticker, now revealed for the world to see. The dark faded emblem stands out like a sore thumb

“fuck…hey captain look at this!” he yelled out to Price, cutting Price's attention away from the canister he was focused on.

“Bell what is this?” he asks, brushing his hand over the faded emblem. Bell's tongue feels heavy in his mouth old memories buzzing in the back of his mind. 

 

“It's Nova 6.”

 

Notes:

Hello! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter!

thank you for all the kudos!

have a good day/night stay safe!

 

This fic will be on temporary pause because I am focusing on my other fic (Mr Bell, come out and play.) sorry for any inconvenience!

Chapter 9: Message in a Bottle of ash

Summary:

Bell aids the team on the ground finds some secrets and gets a message.

Price returns to Bell, confusion etched into his face. “The bloody hell is Nova Six?” He questions voice gruff as he looks to Bell for answers, and Bell delivers.

 

“Gas made during the Cold War was made and manufactured by a rogue Soviet agent, but I have no idea how it got here. I wasn't in action when this showed up, but I read over the reports when I was still in the hospital, and all the reports said that the last of it was destroyed in Verdansk in 1974.” Bell explains as he continues ripping off the covering label before standing up and backing away from the gas canisters. 

 

Price immediately reaches for his radio, flicking it on. “Bravo-six to all stations: stand down. I repeat, stand down. The gas canisters are labelled incorrectly; it's actually Nova six.” He then goes on to reiterate what Bell had told him as Bell continues ripping off the fake labels, questions rushing through his mind.

 

Why is this here? How is this here?

 

The questions raced over and over during the few weeks when he was first bedridden in the hospital. While reading up on what had happened in the past 40 years, he had also read up on several classified reports on what Adler had done after Bell’s supposed ‘death,’ and what he found was exactly what he expected…mostly, the mission reports on Perseus return under the leadership of Vikhor Kuzmin made old memories buzz in the back of Bell’s mind as he had read them. 

 

The thing that had shocked Bell the most was reading the reports of Adler's supposed betrayal, as well as Mason’s death, which hurt more than he had expected. Mason was one of, if not the only, member of the safehouse crew that was actually Bell’s friend. Mason and Woods both were the only ones who treated Bell like he was a human and not just a tool; it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

Did they know? Did they help? What did Alder tell them after Solovetsky? 

 

Bell is brought back to the present when Price places his hand on Bell’s shoulder. “Come on, mate, we’ve got a job to do here.” Price says smiling, but the words' familiar, far too familiar, bell feels the buzzing in the back of his mind and the twitching of his eye.

 

A light haze falls over him, but he fights back, shaking his head and rubbing his eye with his gloved hand, trying to push the consuming haze away, and he does so successfully...hopefully.

 

“You alright, mate?” Price’s voice anchors Bell back once again; that was the strange thing about the task force: each of them had anchored him in some way—Price’s leadership, Soap’s humour, Gaz’s unique ideas and innovation, and Ghost’s silent support. All of them had, in some way, managed to help anchor Bell in the present, breaking him from his reminiscences of the past. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm all good.” Bell responds, looking up at Price; his eyes sting, and his head hurts, but the captain doesn't need to know that, not now at least. Both of the men's radios spark up: “Gold Eagle Actual to all stations: Do not touch the gas. I repeat, do not touch the gas.

 

 A pickup team is incoming to transport the gas away without risking personnel; all current personnel are to reach the exfil point. Makarov’s dead; well done, boys.” General Shepherd's voice bleeds through the radio, his voice making Bell’s ears practically bleed, but the words spark a rage in Price.

 

“Six to all stations that kill is not confirmed… I say again that kill is not confirmed. We need to search the site for PID on Makarov.“ Price says as Farah, Gaz, and Alex round the corner, quickly walking towards Price and Bell, the general retorts over the radio.

 

 “Gold-Eagle to all stations: your orders are to stand down and head to the exfil point. We got nothin’ but fire and brimstone out here; that's all the confirmation we need.” Prices face twists, and the general’s words, his brows knitting in anger, and he turns from Bell, “Six, go to 1,” the general calls over the radio, and Price reaches up to his radio as he walks away from the group.

 

Price and the general exchange a series of heated words, some heard by the others, some not, after a few minutes of arguing with the general. Price disconnects from the radio channel and walks towards Farah. He goes to speak, but she beats him to it: “Shepard only sees what he wants.” She nods her head, and Price sighs, “His name on another win…another medal on his chest.” Price hisses, anger edged in his tone, as his head sways from side to side, surveying the area as if Makarov would pop out of thin air.

 

Price turns back to Farah. “What do you see?’ He questions giving Farah space to voice her thoughts. She's huffing, looking around before facing back to Price. “It's what I don’t that worries me.” She finalises, and Price nods his head in understanding before they both walk back to the other, rejoining the group. “What’s the call, Cap?” Gaz questions as he sees Price approach.

 

Price’s gaze flickers over each member of the group, looking each of them in the eyes before his gaze is cast to the floor. “We head to the exfil point; hopefully Kate has found out more about this Nova Six. Until then, Bell,. You need to tell us everything you know about this.” Price says, raising his head, his focus is on Bell.

 

 Bell nods, a sombre expression on his face, but inside, turmoil and fear bubble. He knows deep down that he hasn't exactly been the most honest with any of them, and telling them about the operation, even though he himself wasn't involved, the thought of sharing something he had kept to himself was enough to make his stomach twist.

 

—---------------------------------------4 hours later—------------------------------------------

 

Getting the exfil point was easy, but the flight over was difficult, especially for Bell, as he explained the intricacies and details of the Nova Six operation and those involved. He had told the team who was responsible for it, but he was fortunate to not have been questioned further on who led the operation.

They all now stand in one of Farah’s bases. The air was stale, and the sun was beating. Bell could feel himself sweating, his inner clothes now damp from sweat. He turned his head to look at the other members of his team; Ghost and Soap were still conducting their mission on the dam, making sure Konni didn’t wash the city away, so they were notably absent.

 

Farah was leaning against a table, and both of her hands brushed up against the surface. Alex was standing off to her right, sitting on one of the thin metal chairs that always digs into their backs. 

 

Price, along with Gaz, is leaning against the back wall lined with cupboards; Bell stands in front on a large evidence board hung up on a large brick wall; Laswell is connected to this meeting via a video call on a computer lying on the inner table Farah is leaning on.

 

“So, Kate, any updates from the general on what exactly this ‘Nova six is?” Gaz asks, turning his head to the laptop placed on the table; Laswell's voice flickers through the speakers of the computer, his voice distorting slightly. “No, nothing yet, sergeant,” she replies.

 

Price huffs, shaking his head, lighting, and taking a puff of his cigar, exhaling the smoke out of his nose, watching it dance and swirl in the air before speaking, turning his head towards Bell, his eye flickering between Lasswell's computer and the evidence board. “Bell, give everyone the rundown of what you told me,” he says, fixing the cigar in his fingers and taking another puff, waiting for Bell to speak.

 

The hairs on Bell’s arms flare up as goosebumps trail along his arms, but he just nods, turning his body towards the other in the room. “Okay, so, around 1983, after the death of the first leader of Perseus, a rogue Soviet paramilitary group, Vikhor Kuzmin, took command.” Bell explains running his hands across the evidence board as he explains points at various different old photos all of which he had in the file he had read in the hospital that he held onto for a rainy day.

 

“Vikhor Kuzmin was a scientist under the lead of General Cravchenco, who commissioned the gas nova six. The gas was highly effective and dangerous. But Kuzmin was later captured by a CIA operative and interrogated before being released back to the Russians in a prisoner trade. He was then sent to a gulag that he later broke out of to lead Perseus after its leader's death.” Bell stops looking at everyone in the room, letting them process and retain the information before beginning again.

 

”which leads us to 1985, where the last known position of the gas was in large stocks being transported through Loa’s by a local warlord of Kuzmin’s payroll, Kapano Vang, also known as Naga throughout his cartel.”

 

“From there we don't know where the gas went; we only have a few mentions of it again in one report from a CIA operative who suspected that Kuzmin was creating the gas again, but then Kuzmin was later killed in 1938 with the remaining Perseus members running for the hills or abandoning their posts.” 

 

After the lengthy explanation, Bell sighed. It hurt to talk about his old comrades like the way he was; deep down, he still held the same respect for all of them, but his mind is foggy and clouded with glimmers and glimpses of memories before he was even called Bell Tingle in his cranium.

 

It hurts, hurts to even think about it. Bell was pushing his past life away subconsciously and paining himself by trying to remember. 

 

“Fuckin hell.” Gaz mutters, running his hand through his shirt buzzcut hair, before his eyebrows crease together in slight wonder and confusion, “Were you around for that bell?” He asks, drawing the others attention back to Bell, who shakes his head“, No, I was... what did the scientist say...out of order’ when that all ll happened?" Bell says, nodding, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispers, ‘You weren't there, but you sure as hell worked with them and were friends with them.’ It hissed its venomous words, making Bell bristle slightly. 

 

Laswell’s voice crackles through the com, bringing Bell back from the battle within his mind. 

“The general just sent in some forms he clawed out of god knows where.” She says, her eyes scanning the other computer at her side as a projector falls over the evidence board, that Bell quickly steps away from taking a seat next to Alex in one of the uncomfortable chairs.

 

The projector screen flickers as it turns on, the connection flickering as images hazily show up before clearing. It's an old document. Russian that was quickly translated, telling from the incorrect English grammar and blunt words shining on the screen.

 

But it's not the translation that shocks the room into silence. It's the information.

 

“Holy shit…” Alex mutters at Bell's left side, eyes darting frantically over the words onscreen. Farah’s hands are shaking at her sides, her fists clenched tightly, her nails digging into her skin almost breaking the flesh. Alex turned to her and stood, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, a small moment of comfort between the duo. 

 

“Barkov was never using his own gas….” Price spoke the words heavy on his tongue, his throat rendered dry from shock. “Bloody hell…He was using Nova six.” Price takes a deep puff of the cigar, trying to calm his heightened nerves.

 

The document was a transport record to General Roman Barkov; the year titled at the left corner of the document was 2018. This had happened right under their nose: a Russian general, a dead Russian general, had used 30-something-year-old chemical weapons on countless civilians. 

 

Bell, of course, didn’t know that; he didn't take time to learn the intricacies of everyone's backstory, and so there he sat once again, just a pawn in the narrative that he lives because of one man, and he vowed to himself he would make that man pay. 

 

Bell raked his eyes over the other operators, taking in their reactions, but he saw something they didn’t. It was small, nearly invisible if you didn’t know what to do, but in between the lines of the document there was a message, a message he suspected was for him. Which made his whole situation so much more precarious and confusing.

 

The message that he had decided within his mind wrote.

 

“The snake still lives in the trees.”

 

Bell smirks a message in a message, but he thinks to himself it’s high time that he had a few months off. He couldn’t keep Naga waiting now, could he?

 

Notes:

Hope you enjoy this! have an amazing day/night stay safe!

Chapter 10: lying allies and old friends.

Summary:

Bell and the team make their way to Laos after a video shows someone who could either be their target or their ally.

Bell had found out quite quickly that the only way that he would make it to Laos was to include the others, With the heightened threat of Nova 6 and the current threat that his nephew, Makarov, had over the world, it was too large to ignore. Both sides weren't giving up any ground, and Bell knew that there was no way he would get leave, and if he asked, there would be a lot of questions that, frankly, he didn't want to deal with. 

 

But Bell has been and always will be stubborn, or at least that's what he thinks. The flashes of old memories and the nightmares over the months that he has resided in the fresh barracks have helped Bell rebuild his memories brick by brick. And slowly but surely, Bell had regained a part of himself that he had lost years ago; the cunning, manipulative liar that served Perseus all those years ago was rearing its ugly head in the forefront of Bell's mind.

 

So Bell decided to take an easy route to get to Laos. Tell the truth, but not entirely, of course. Bell knew at this point that he could use the others' trust to his advantage, but something deep within him warred with that thought, so Bell, trying to calm the storm within him, came up with a solution.

 

Tell not a whole lie and not a whole truth; Bell knows this tactic inside out. After all, his entire existence within the CIA was based on half-truths.

 

—------------------------------0900 hours ULF forces base Urzikstan—---------------------------------

 

“Wait, you have a what where?” Price asks, blinking repeatedly at Bell, confusion and shock on his face at the words Bell has just uttered, The meeting had ended a few minutes ago, but everyone remained in the room, and now they were all staring at Bell, shock, curiosity, and confusion buzzing in the room's atmosphere. 

 

Bell sighs slightly in irritation at Price's question, unwilling to reiterate his words again, but he sighs, swallowing the unease building in his gut, and opening his mouth, says, “I said that I may know someone who can help us.” He explains once again, watching carefully at the other operators' reactions, the general reaction that he gets is his excitement at the chance to maybe get a leg up on Makarov, but Price is different; his face is chiselled with caution and surprise.

 

“Ya think they’ll still be alive?” soapy questions curiously turning his head towards Bell with a raised eyebrow. Bell nods before pushing himself off of the wall and walking towards a computer lying on a table. Bell turns his head to Price, tilting his head in question, “May I?’ He asks, knowing that a show of loyalty towards the captain would allow him to gain more trust from his fellow operators. Price nods his head, giving Bell the go-ahead. Bell redirects his attention to the screen in front of him, letting the projector light up, highlighting the bright image that lights up the projector.

 

The screen flickers, and flashes a video clearly from several years ago starts to play, its audio crackling through the speakers. A date and mission name flicker on the screen before being blacked out.

 

April 19th, 1984

SOUTHEAST ASIA

LAOS

Cartel activity watchforce tac vest camera video

 

The speakers crackle with the sounds of heavy breathing; the video glitches, the background quickly changing, simulating that the operator was running. The greenery flashing and rushing past the screen as the operator runs through the dense forest. 

 

Spikes appear on the screen, each decorated with a decomposed human skull. The operator was clearly shaken by the skulls as he gasped and ran quicker, the camera jostling as he ran.

 

before he suddenly falls into the ground, hands forward, catching himself on the forest floor, the camera turns upwards towards the sky, revealing a dark silhouette illuminated by a gleaming sun. The screen flickers as the silhouetted man chucks the soldier's fallen shotgun at the fallen man’s chest before a loud bang sparks from the speakers and blood smears over the camera. The silhouette leans down, picking up what seems to be a playing card, looking at it for a few seconds before discarding it, standing up once again. 

 

The sound of a helicopter blades buzz in the distance making the silhouette turn towards the noise, letting the light illuminate his clothes allowing him to be seen on the screen his reflective  glasses mirroring the forest around him his slightly dirtied clothes blending in with his green attire the only distinctive thing clinging to his human form was a dark grey undershirt securend beneath his tacvest and an dark velvet green balaclava with intricate with designs picturing teeth and various Laotian words covers his face as he reaches up to a small metal disk secured on his right shoulder-presumably his comm link.

 

“Stitch, the rats are here. Adler's secure and heading to you in Verdansk.” The man speaks with a slightly accented voice. He unclips a small gun from his hip, adjusting it in his grip as another voice speaks up again with a Russian accent. 

 

“Good. Make them believe we care about the Nova Six supply lines,” the distinctively Russian voice whispers over the comm as the man steps away from the dead operator, disappearing into the brush.

 

The screen flickers before flicking back a few frames, pausing the video. Bell walks forward towards the projector slowly before pressing his finger directly onto the image of the man: “Kapano ‘naga” Vang, Leader of the Vang Cartel, and a damn good courier.” Bell says, smiling slightly, somewhat lost in the bliss of old memories and remembrance. His trance being broken when Ghost's gruff voice speaks up, “Who was that over the radio?” Ghost questions bluntly. Bell turns his body, walking back towards the table as he speaks, “Vikhor Kuzmin,” he says bluntly, letting the realisation wash over everyone in the room. It doesn't take long for a flurry of questions to be thrown Bell’s way, but one stands out.

 

“Wait... so you want us to get into contact with someone who worked with the terrorist who helped manufacture Nova six?” The question spilt from Gaz’s lips, his eyes wide as he stared shocked at Bell. 

 

Bell nods, “Yeah, pretty much,” he answers bluntly, nodding his head. Gaz turns to Price, eyes still wide, a silent conversation happening in between the sergeant and captain. Bell waits with bated breath, dread twisting its way into his heart as he silently hopes and prays that the captain will allow this mission to go through.

 

 If what Bell had suggested could even be called a mission. Bell threads his fingers together as Price lets out a long sigh that seems to make the tension in the room even heavier. Bell could feel everyone's eyes on him and the captain. 

 

Bell watches as Price raises his head, looking Bell directly in the eyes. Brown meets Green, and a question is flung from Price's lips, a question that takes Bell back about because he hadn't thought about it before.

 

“Can we trust him?’

 

The answer immediately slips from Bell's lips: “Yes,” he affirms, but Price’s words stick with him. Could he trust Naga? Surely Vang would have heard of his betrayal, and there was no telling why Naga would want to see him. But even with Bell's warring emotions now burning in his very soul. He bargains with himself, coming to the conclusion that hopefully Nga would be willing to help him/them in their endeavour. 

 

Scene Bell had first joined 141; the task force had never mingled with anyone not in the United States good books. And now here he was introducing them to a cartel leader that aided one of the most dangerous terror organisations in an attack that almost rendered the entire western world weak and defenceless. But the attack had failed, and so Bell calculates that if conflict did arise between his team and Naga, it could be resolved quickly. 

 

With and without violence.

 

—---------------------------------Several days later.-------------------------------------------------------

 

The trip had been hard; organising transport was even harder. Local reports on cartel activity had allowed 141 to get a decent idea of where in the deep, lush forests of Laos Naga was and when he would be there.

 

But they persevered as they always did and always will.

 

Gaz, Price, and Bell regrouped with Ghost and Soap after the duo prevented Konni’s attack on the dam, putting a hopefully large wrench in the rest of Makarov’s plans. As for now, it seems to have worked, as there have been no updates, no reports, and no word about Konni in the past few days; it seems they’ve fallen off the edge of the world. 

 

Soap and Ghost had been debriefed on the situation and the truth behind the gas that Barkov had been using, where it came from, and Bell’s proposal, to which the duo, especially Soap, agreed to immediately; Gaz and Price needed further convincing, but they both eventually agreed, having no reason to distrust Bell or his word. And so here they find themselves trekking through tough, thick green brush, hacking away at it, pushing further north towards a suspected cartel base, where Naga should be.

 

Bell pushes a large branch away from his face as he steps forward through the dense bush, the other 141 members following after him. “Watch out for snakes; last time I was here, the fuckers were everywhere.” Bell, cautious, looks over his shoulder, his voice carrying through the trees, echoing slightly. 

 

“So. Bell... how exactly did you meet this guy?” Soap asks as he turns his head, observing as much of the forest as he can. Bell hums before speaking. “Before the Cold War, I worked for anyone who was willing to pay. Naga hired me to do some transport work; that was before I was commissioned to work permanently for the CIA.”

 

 Bell explained the lie gliding off of his tongue easily despite the gnawing guilt digging at him. He knows he doesn't have a reason to lie to them, but he knows that for his own safety, half-truths and lies are all he can give them. Bell knows that his lies are far-fetched, but to be fair, he didn't exactly have the most believable life.

 

His words sink in, and he can feel the others eyes zone in on him, tension blooming out of thin air. “You were a merc?” Price asks an underlying threat veiled in his voice, and Bell stops in his tracks, realising it is hitting. 

 

Of course they would feel animosity towards mercenaries; their hatred towards Graves and general mistrust towards people who can be bribed to do anything by money had solidified the fact. Bell felt a small drip of sweat fall from his brow as he realised that he just may have metaphorically dug his own grave. He turns to the group, seeing the shock, distrust, and questioning looks etched in the other operators faces, making Bell's gut drop even further.

 

“Yeah… I was,” he answered slowly, anticipating jumping through his body, his fight-or-flight sense heightening, waiting for the others to move first, but nothing happened; they just stood there, all of them pulled into an uncomfortable silence as the tension rose thick enough to cut with a butter knife. 

 

But the tension dissipates as fast as it appeared when Gaz speaks up. “Well…we’ve got a mission to finish, don’t we, Cap?” Gaz’s statement melts the tension from the air as Bell lets out a small unnoticeable sigh of relief, and Price nods sharply, eyes still gleaming with an unusual emotion that Bell can't quite place. Price's eyes rise, looking into Bell's deep green eyes. “Lead the way, Bell.”

 

And in that moment, Bell feels the guilt gnawing in his gut boil over, and he regrets ever lying to his team, and he knows deep down that he will never be able to redeem himself for what he has done to Perseus, to the CIA, and to this team.

 

When he had first joined Perseus back in 1963, the one thing that the old man had demanded from every individual soldier was loyalty. Undying, pure, unrivalled loyalty. Bell, no Samuel returned to his sweet, innocent, untainted nephew and reiterated this message.

 

“Loyalty is something that shouldn't falter no matter what.” 

 

And now the broken, disgraced man that now called himself Bell knew that he had no means for redemption because he had damned himself in too many ways to count. Betrayal after betrayal. 

 

But he would make things right even if it cost him his nephew's life. 

 

Notes:

Hello everyone! thank you all so much for the support and i hope you enjoy this new chapter!

I hope you all have had an amazing holidays! stay safe and have a good day/night!

Chapter 11: First impressions and snakes

Summary:

Naga and Bell reunite!

The trek through the forest was veiled by a silent awkwardness that, for the most part, kept Bell on edge, but he knew that he just needed to find Naga, and then he could find some semblance of stability.

The trek through the forest was veiled by a silent awkwardness that, for the most part, kept Bell on edge, but he knew that he just needed to find Naga, and then he could find some semblance of stability in this fucked-up world, even if it came from someone who he thought assumed that he betrayed everything that they stood for and spilt blood, sweat, and tears for. y in this fucked-up world, even if it came from someone who he thought assumed that he betrayed everything that they stood for and spilt blood, sweat, and tears for. 

 

But hey, you can't really do anything against being brainwashed into a human puppet now, can you?

 

The sounds of a singular, sharp, almost birdlike whistle filter through the trees and brush, eventually reaching the operator's ears, and Bell would be damned if he didn't recognise that whistle. Smiling softly, letting his tense shoulders finally relax as he breathes a sigh of relief, he swings his rifle over his shoulder, securing it before bringing his hands to his mouth and giving his own distinct whistle. 

 

He knew that they’d been spotted by Naga or his men because of the whistle system; he's just glad that he was able to remember how to respond; otherwise, he would be in deep, deep shit. 

 

The crunch of leaves and twigs echoes through the trees, followed by a quiet wheezing sound. Bell's eyes widen, and at the last minute, he swings his head away. Hearing the distinct ‘thunk’ of a knife connecting with wood, he turns his head and sees a black-handled knife protruding from the tree where his head had been only seconds ago.

 

He can't help but laugh as he plucks the blade from the tree, turning to the open forest space and calling out loudly in the direction the knife was thrown from, “Really!?” he yells as birds swoop into the sky at the loud disruption of his voice.

 

The forest then starts to plunge into silence once again, but a light, hearty laugh sounds from the higher branches of a large, thick papaya tree, drawing the attention of the entire group, the other operators taking on defensive stances, bracing themselves for a fight, but Bell remaining relaxed as he gazes into the upper branches. Searching for the cause of the noise. 

He doesn't have to look for long as the laughs die down to soft giggles. A tall, lean, slightly muscular silhouette depends via rope from the high branches as the silhouette parasails down from the treetop bell, feeling what felt like the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders.

 

It’s Naga in all his green glory. The intricate white detailing of his mask catches the delicate light streaming between the leaves. Nagas's feet hit the forest floor with a small thud, his arms crossed over his chest like a proud father. “Wanted to test if you still knew that little trick,”

he muses, pointing at the knife in Bell’s hand. “Ha. Ha. very funny asshole." Bell replies, tossing the blade carelessly at Naga, who in turn swiftly catches it by the handle, sheathing it into his tac vest. 

 

“Just making sure you still know how to catch.“ Naga answered, raising his hands complacently before laughing and pulling Bell into a quick, tight hug. Bell was pretty sure he could hear his ribs cracking because of how tight Naga was squeezing him in the quick embrace. “We all thought you died * khon khikhan*” (Bastard). 

Naga exclaims, playfully swatting Bell's shoulder before turning his gaze over to the other 141 members, his demeanour changing from friendly to standoffish. A few seconds later, Bell can see them all tense slightly at Naga's questioning gaze.

 

“*Phuakkhao aemnphai?*” (Who are they?) Naga questions, turning his head to Bell but keeping his body facing the others, whose bodies are tense, and Ghost particularly looks like he’s ready to strike, his body coiled and taut like a spring. 

 

Bell twists his body towards Naga, leaning into the man slightly. “*Phanthamid khongphuakkhao*.” (Their allies)

 

Bell whispers slowly the words uneven and heavy on his tongue; he knows Naga understood what he said, but he couldn’t help but feel his stomach twist when he sees the way that Naga's hidden features soften slightly when he speaks in his largely accented Lao. He knew that Naga would be on edge when he first met the others, and Bell remembers how much time and effort it took him to get into the man’s good books after they first met. 

 

Bell hated the way that Naga’s body language changed from standoffish to pitying to some form of acceptance, telling from the soft nods Naga gives Bell after he finishes talking. “Alright then... Well, it's a long walk to the base, so we better get started.” Naga says gruffly, eyeing Price with lingering suspicion. Bell scoffs, shaking his head at Naga's childish antics, but following Naga through the thick underbrush, the loud crunching footsteps behind him are a telltale sign that the others are following.

 

Naga gradually slows down next to Bell, both of them keeping a steady pace walking side by side. It's silent for the most part, the only noise coming from whatever animals inhabited this part of the dense forest, but that silence is broken as Naga speaks up, turning his head towards Bell,

“So… what happened? You went MIA for months, then reappeared working for the CIA.Then you disappeared again after you helped those mutts destroy the Solovetsky base. What the hell happened to make you work for the CIA?” Naga questions his voice relentlessly as questions pour from his mouth; it's obvious that he had been suppressing his questions in front of the others who are trailing behind them only a few meters away.

 

Bell glances back nervously at the others who are quickly approaching. “Listen, it’s…” Bell momentarily paused; he hadn't thought about what to say to Naga when the man would eventually bombard him with questions. “It's a long story; we can talk about it privately. Just know that in no way did I want to betray Perseus and the cause. It's just... complicated.

Bell says, his voice hushed. Complicated was hardly highlighting the fucked-up shit that Bell was put through, and that's not even glancing at the stuff he did. But he couldn't exactly just turn to Naga and be like,

‘Oh yes, I was brainwashed by the CIA and had all my memories wiped, and the reason I look the same is because Russell Adler—yes, the same Russell Adler that took out Stitch's eye—shot me, and my body entered a self-preserving coma,’ now could he? No, he couldn’t, not with the threat of the others hearing, but why shouldn’t he tell them? They’ve been truthful to him the whole time and have trusted him with their lives like every other soldier he has fought with. Why shouldn’t he trust them?

 

Because Bell knows deep down that if he told any of them, especially Ghost or Price, then it could get back to Laswell, who would probably contact Adler, and then before Bell would know it, he’d be facing off with his greatest enemy handcuffed, and he would be shot. Again, but this time he would die; Adler would make sure of that.

 

Bell knows that the only ones he can trust are his old comrades, the ones he fought battles with before his very soul was stolen from him. He could only trust the comrades that he only remembers in fleeting glances of memories that flash in the back of his brain. Bell knows that after they find out what happened to him, there is a very slim chance that they will trust him, and so as he treks towards one of his oldest friends, he is thinking of all the ways that he can regain the trust that will inevitably be broken when the truth is heard. 

 

But that can wait. All that Bell is worried about right now is hoping and praying that Soap does not step on a snake and get bit. The Scot is already the loudest of the group; they don't need

 

“AH SHIT!”

 

A loud, very Scottish yell comes from behind Naga Bell, unmistakable soap, and in that moment the only thing that Bell can think is, ‘Snakes don't like mohawks or Scottish people. Noted.

 

Notes:

So sorry for the short chapter but I hope you all enjoyed it!

Chapter 12: Safety and Paa Tod

Summary:

Bell and the gang arrive at Naga base fluff ensues and suspicion rises

“Oh, you have got to be shittin' me.” Bell groans rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Naga huffs a barely controlled laugh at the Scotsman's unfortunate situation receiving a glare from the other members of 141 who are now kneeling next to a fallen Scotsman holding his now exposed and bleeding calf. 

 

Bell turns to Naga who is looking at a bush nearby spotting a snake tail slithering away through the thick underbrush naga turns to Bell “We can get him to medics at the base we're half an hour out.” Naga explains quickly waltzing over to the downed Scotsman and taking control over the situation instructing one of the others to carry the now injured and pissed off soap. 

 

Ghost promptly advocates to carry soap, easily scooping the man up in his arms and holding him bridal-style. Bell can see Price smirking slightly making Bell's eyes crinkle in confusion but the urgency of the situation quickly became apparent when soap started grunting in pain biting his lip.

Naga walks over to the duo quickly tightening a tourniquet a few centimeters above the swelling and discolored skin of the fresh bite, after completing the task Naga pats soap on the shoulder “it's better to lose your leg than to lose your life.” Naga chirps trying to comfort the Scotsman and calm him down.

Bell didn't think it was working but he had no time to dwell on it before naga briskly started walking towards the hidden base reaching up to the concealed like on his shoulder Naga spoke into it 

 

“ Viper 0-1 to base I’ve got an injured man from the escort, snake bite species unidentified.” He quickly received an answer before turning to everyone “All right let's move, your friend they won't have much time left.” he explains carelessly gesturing to soap before briskly turning and starting walking at a fast pace.

 

Bell twists his head to see the other members of 141 slightly pale as the news ghost tightens on his grip on Soap before breaking into a run following Naga’s lead “your gonna be alright Johnny ya hear me?” He asserts adjusting the soap's position in his arms. soap responds groggily with a hum and a nod “Just keep your eyes open mate.” Gaz assures from soap's side patting the other man's knee reassuringly.

 

—-----------------------------30 minutes later—-------------------------- 

 

The fast-paced walk to Naga’s base quickly turned into a rush after soap started gagging and sputtering before vomiting all over Ghosts tac vest but to Bell’s surprise the other man doesn't care about the rancid vomit and horrid smell of digested MREs the one thing that seems to be driving ghost and the others to continue running after Naga was the hope that the Scotsman would survive. They eventually catch up with the warlord causing him to run with them towards the base.

 

The trip was a blur to Bell but once they reached their destination and bell saw the large metal and barbed wire gates swing open with Naga’s medic and men taking soap away on a stretcher that's when he finally registered his exhausted and dehydrated state quickly uncapping his canteen and swallowing all the water contained the vessel gasping for air after he released the bottle form his hold letting it dangle from the strap connecting it to his vest. 

 

“Are you alright?” Naga askes from bells left, his eyes scanning Bell for any signs of injury but finding none

“yeah…yeah I'm alright just-just forgot to drink water for a while.” bell replies coughing waving naga off training not to concern the warlord, after all, he still had to explain everything that had happened in the late years of the cold war and how he’s still standing 40 years later not looking a day over 31,

‘fuck that's gonna be a long conversation.’ Bell mentally curses as he wipes the remains of water off his chin and mouth with a gloved hand. 

 

“When was the last time you ate?” Naga demands crossing his arms over his chest and looking at  Bell disapprovingly.

 

“Huh?” Bell gawks at Naga’s sudden question, shocked at the man's sudden interest in his diet, he looks around himself noticing that it was just him and Naga, the other members of 141 most likely having gone with the near unconscious soap. Returning his gaze to naga’s he runs a hand through his short greasy hair

“uh…a few minutes ago?” he answers remembering that during the trek to the base he had a few handfuls of jerky and trail mix that gaz had stored secretly in his pockets sharing his secret snack stash with Bell. 

Naga sighs, taking off his reflective sunglasses and letting Bell see his glinting green eyes, and for the first time in all the years that Bell has known Naga the man looks upset “You know what I mean not.. what's the word..snacks! Not snacks but an actual meal.” Naga presses forward, snapping his fingers together after finding the word he was looking for.

 

Bell just stood there startled a little bit “uhh.. I don't know?” he answers carefully trying to gauge where this conversation is going and what Naga’s intentions were after all,

Bell saw firsthand what Naga did to get into power in the first place the elaborate coup against the pats cartel leaders was bloody and painful for all parties involved the faded memories of it were enough to make bell shiver slightly.

 

Bell’s answer to the question dissatisfied Naga, because before Bell knew it the warlord had taken hold of his wrist and started to drag him towards the cartel base's bar.

Why did Naga have a bar in an extremely fortified base? Bell didn't know the reason and wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

---

Loud music boomed over the two men’s heads ans they drifted their way to the bar-stand sitting on the leather barstools Naga clicked his fingers and a bartender raced over quickly pouring naga a drink and exchanging words with naga in loa before scurrying off again “what is this all about?” bell asks resting his hands on the bent of the bar-stand,

 

Naga merely takes a sip of his drink humming slightly and a few seconds later the bartender arrives with a bowl placing it in front of Bell and returning behind the bar to serve the other patrons who were either disinterested in what their leader was doing or was too scared to speak or comment about it.

 

The bowl held a soup, Paa Tod as Naga would call it, a crispy catfish soup with slices of onion and other intricate ingredients. It was one of the first meals bells had with naga when they first met and it was bell's favorite Lao cuisine not that he remembered that of course 

 

"Paa Tod, your favorite, eat I will not have you or your…guests starve while you are here.” Naga says patting Bell on the shoulder reassuringly before sipping at his drink that Bell assumed was a rice whiskey.  

 

Bell smiled and by the grace of god, it felt good to smile for the first time in a long time.

Bell felt comfortable where he was and who he was with. His fingers fiddled with the spoon that was now in his hand before he dipped it in the bowl scooping some of the meticulously cooked soup, using his other hand to lift his mask he brought the spoon to his mouth taking his first bite of a long forgotten meal. 

 

The sour and rich taste of the catfish blending with the sweetness of the onions, the herbaceous taste of the coriander and the nutty glaze mingled together in bells mouth a symphony of extraordinary cooking at flavors all perfectly matched together reminding bell why he loves this dish so, so much. 

 

Bell sighs in satisfaction after swallowing the first bite, his eyes finding Naga’s face and frowning, the warlord's hand pulling his face mask off and the bastard smirking as he drank the whiskey before licking his lips, giving Bell a glimpse of his split tongue.

Bell frowns, making Naga’s smirk depen it wasn't long before the warlord was laughing a full belly laugh smacking his hand against the tabletop drawing the attention of other patrons that quickly turned away when they realized who was causing the ruckus. 

 

“What's so funny eh?” bell huffs spooning another blissful spoon in his mouth chewing appreciatively naga’s laugh slows to a chuckle than to a soft giggle as he takes another gulp 

 

“no..no it's nothing, it's just it's been awhile since I’ve seen you so happy over a dish…” naga explains gesturing to the bowl in front of Bell,

bell then wraps his free arm around the bowl protective eyeing Naga with childlike suspicion “your an asshole you know.” Bell rolls his eyes bringing his focus back to the divine meal in front of him, spooning several mouthfuls into his waiting mouth.

 

Naga chuckles beside him “yes-yes I'm the butthole.” he jests flailing his hands around sarcastically, his words make Bell choke on his mouth full of soup for a few seconds before he regains his composure and swallows the food. 

 

“butthole?” He gasps, reaching for the glass of water that the bartender had given Bell when he had delivered the meal, quickly gulping down the water to clear his airway. Bell turns to see Naga’s now very confused face “Yes butthole. You called me a butthole correct?” Naga raises an eyebrow expectantly as Bell processes his question 

 

“I called you an asshole.” Bell corrects spooning the last few scraps of his meal into his mouth Naga’s brow creases in confusion “Are they not the same thing?” He asks, tilting his head to the side in thought trying to find the difference. 

 

Bell huffs a small laugh “ok so…an asshole is someone who annoys someone else okay? And a butthole is..the more crude way of saying anus." Bell explains watching as Naga’s face contorts in understanding before he places his glass down on the counter “I think I get it..” naga nods Bell can see the gears turning in the other man’s head dread sinks into bells chest at the realization that naga is going to ask a question. 

 

“Stone called me an arse…is that the same as calling someone an anus?” naga questions his nose scrunching in slight disgust and now it's Bells time to laugh and he does wheeze bubbles from his chest as he reaches his hand out and slaps Naga on the back affectionately

 

“ok..ok so-” bell cuts himself off with another wheeze at Nagas enraged expression before claiming down slightly. 

 

“Okay so…when Stone called you an arse he meant it in the way like how I called you an asshole okay? But..you can also use the word arse to describe someone's y’know arse. But stone meant it in the same way I did when I called you an asshole”

 

bell explains trying to keep himself from laughing again and failing miserably because after he explained naga’s face was still twisted in a kind of confused understanding his head nodding slightly taking in the information.

 

“English is such a confusing language” naga huffs.

 

And the two laugh together till the sun goes down worry’s forgotten and stress is a far away thought. 

---

In a small sterile room that smelled like old dusty curtains laid a healed soap an iv drip inserted into his thigh, he sighs the nauseous feeling had left him hours ago but that still didn't mean that he felt great he got bit by a damn snake for fucks sake. 

 

Ghost sat beside him and the Scotsman won't admit it to the other mans face but it was nice that the stoic bastard never left soaps side since they had arrived at Bell’s friends base, Naga soap was pretty sure that's what the others man was named, pretty fitting if you asked soap the way that man moved so casually through the forest while everyone else stumbled behind him was mesmerizing.

 

All of this made soap feel uneasy and it's just not that fact that he almost died from a damn snake bite it's this whole history lesson that comes with Bell at every turn soap can't even imagine what the other must have gone through with the whole self-preserving coma shit and waking up 40 years later but there is just.

 

Something about bell that made soap uneasy just the way that bell acts around the team and how he holds himself it all feel calculated, planned, predicted like the man had drained everything human about himself out and focused solely on being a good soldier and soap’ll be damned if he didn't say the Bell is a good soldier.

There is just something off about him something that can't quite be placed but here soap was laying in the medical facility of a Laos cartel warlord’s base his special forces lieutenant sitting next to him cause a damn snake bit him on the trek over 

 

“What the hell are we getting into LT?” soap huffs running a hand through his stubby mohawk 

 

“I don't know johnny.” 

 

Ghost's admission makes soap pause for a second ‘he doesn't know? No theories, no suspicions, just nothing?’ soap thinks to himself as his heart sinks the future was uncertain for them, especially with such a large threat like Makarov out in the wild. 

Notes:

Hello everyone! hope you enjoy this chapter I hope to update this fic again soon but I am on vacation and I start school two days after I get back home.

so I hope you can understand if I don't update for a while, anyway I just want to say thank you so much for your support, your comments really help me continue writing and planning this fic and thank you all for the kudos.

as always stay safe and have a good day/night!

Edit: Ya'll PLEASE leave comments on what you think PLEASE! (I just need some opinions to find out how I'm doing and to see where I can improve)

Chapter 13: Old skills don't die with memories.

Summary:

Soap recovers and Bell calls a meting with 141's new allies sitting at the table.

Soap's recovery was reasonably fast considering the situation they were in. Naga’s medics were truly miracle workers, so much so that the warlord got them all drunk after soap recovered. 

 

Naga told Bell that they don't get to experience any real action because most of the stuff they deal with is overdoses and other drug-related enquiries and the injuries that come with drug consumption.

 

Now the team and Naga are stinging around a large table in the room which Naga had designated as his office before joining Perseus. Now it's just a regular meeting room or debrief room, depending on how you look at it.

All the members of 141 sat on the left side of the table, Price at the head of the group, followed by Ghost, Soap, and at the end of the table, Gaz. The team was all laser-focused on Bell, who stood at the front of the table; a projector screen sat behind him, displaying the names and ID pictures of the others who sat directly across from the team.

 

kapano “Naga” vang

Kaori “kitsune” Tannaka

Harry Stone

Roman "Knight" Grey 

Freya "Wraith" Helvig

Owethu "Jackal" Mabuza

 

The five Perseus agents, all seated at the table, had shocked expressions on their faces when they found out that their old commander had lived past the fall of Solovetsky. Bell had yet to tell Naga why he had sided with the Americans; he wasn't exactly happy to explain it to his old comrades.

But what was even more shocking was the fact that Stone was in prison. “Stone.” Bell says, pausing for a second, pointing at the ID picture displayed on the screen, his eyes squinting behind the mask exasperatedly, “the escape extraordinaire, one of the most sought-after mercenaries, and an ex-SAS member. That stone.!?” 

 

Bell exclaims, waving his hand at the screen, looking at the Perseus agents sitting across from the 141 task force. Bell had noticed how Price’s eyes had darkened at the last bit of his description of Stone. ‘Right, you probably shouldn't mention details about ex-SAS members that you used to and probably will still be buddies with. Get your shit together, Bell!’ He mentally scolded himself for the slight slip-up.

Bell had noticed how the others had become more guarded around him after he mentioned having past connections to a cartel leader, and he couldn’t blame them for their suspicions; he would feel the same if the tables were turned, except he’d do a more direct approach at trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

 

. Knight huffs a laugh, holding his hands up complacently. “Yeah, that stone, he got nabbed by MI6 a few months ago after there were medical reports of a 40-year self-preserving coma patient. Didn't know it was going to be you, boss.” He chuckles, leaning back in his chair, flicking his legs up so his feet rest comfortably on the edge of the table.

 

“How’d you get those reports?” Ghost questions his eyes, looking right into the agents souls.

They did not trust each other, and once again, Bell was the middleman who had to explain everything to everyone else and was still trying to slowly explain to his past and current allies that he was put through traumas that most couldn’t comprehend and the US was like a puppet to stop several nukes from destroying the entire world. On one side of the table, they would be absolutely furious with him or sympathetic, which would be…worse.

 

On the other side of the table, his fresh new allies would probably be gobsmacked, and then they would hang out his dirty secrets for all of the CIA to hear, and if that happens, then he would most likely end up dead. 

 

Again.

 

No one dignifies Ghost with an answer, and Bell can feel the tension rising on the right side of the table at the building's silence. Bell clears his throat after a pregnant pause.

“So. Back to business: Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. You’ve met Naga, kitsune, knight, wraith, and jackal.” Bell says, looking at them, eyebrows raised, pleading eternally that the very, very fragile peace in the room stands strong. Soap nods at Bell, Gaz shifts his weight from foot to foot, Ghost just continues to stare into the agents souls, and Price is the perfect mask of civility; that is, if civility was looking like he wanted to throw everyone into a blender, burn us all alive, and then turn the blender on. 

 

But Bell continues because what the fuck else is he supposed to do, dress in drag and do the hula? “Naga, Kitsune, Knight, Wraith, and Jackale, this is Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, and Sergeants Soap Mactavish and Kyle Garrick Gaz.” Bell explains, pointing to each individual member as he says their names, eyeing the others with a piercing gaze that says in massive letters, ‘DO NOT FUCK THIS UP.’ Bell receives a few nods and huffs from the agents, ‘so far so good, he internalises before grabbing the remote that he had placed on the large table at the beginning of the introductions. 

 

Clicking a few buttons on the screen images of the Nova six canisters that were found in Urzikstan illuminates the screen, and like clockwork, he watches as the expression on the Perseus agent's face twists in confusion and recognition but, most importantly, shock. 

 

- So, guys. Task Force 141 here. Are dealing with the global threat that is…Nova six, dozens and dozens of canisters that are now in the hands of Vladimir Makarov, a wanted Russian terrorist.” Bell explains, giving them a pointed look when he sees how some of their faces twist as if to say, ‘Aren’t you that nephew?’ They quickly shot their expression down, Kitsune mumbling a few quick words to Wraith. Before turning her attention back to Bell, who is now leaning against the table, his palms flat against the wood. 

 

Naga clears his throat as he stands up from his seat, walking over to a set of file drawers in the corner of the room, opening a drawer, and taking out a file. “After Stitch died, my men took notice of the remaining locations of the gas canisters. At the time I decided to leave them to rot. A few years later I got notified that the canisters had been moved, sent some men to investigate, and then lost contact. The combat photographer managed to send over a few photos before we lost contact.” Naga explains snapping open the folder in his hands and placing it on the table with the photos sliding out from the file. 

The Polaroid pictures depicted distorted shrubbery framing a group of soldiers carrying the gas canisters into a military-issued armoured transport truck. The other pictures had similar images, but one of them caught Bell’s eye the most. It was similar to the others, depicting the soldiers picking up a gas canister, but the way that one of the soldiers was positioned allowed Bell to get a glimpse of a blurry affiliation patch on the soldier's uniform.

 

Bell's hand reaches out, finger brushing against the worn paper of the photo as his eyes trace over the image. The patch wasn’t too different from the ones he remembers wearing whilst he was undercover in the KGB for Perseus, and then the light bulb in Bell’s mind lit up, the pieces of the puzzle all clicking together. 

 

“Russians took the gas.” Bell exclaims a triumphant smirk spreads across his covered face, his eyes glimmering with glee, his words drawing the attention of everyone seated at the table, their heads snapping up to look at him.

“How do you know?” Price asks inquisitively, his brows creasing together as he looks up at Bell. Bell places the photo under a camera connected to the projected screen, taking a photo of the picture and quickly editing the image, zooming in on the patch on the soldier's shoulder. 

 

 

“Here. It's a Russian army patch,” he explains, turning to Naga. “ When did you get the notification that the gas moved? What year was it?” Naga responds slowly with the gears in his brain still turning as he is still looking at the image on the projector screen. “It...it was 2013,” he answers, watching as the bell turns back to the table, opening the computer that Naga had lent Bell while Soap was in the infirmary. 

 

Bell's fingers diligently tapped the keyboard over and over, his eyes racing over the screen, 141, and the Perseus agents around the table looked on in slight awe and confusion as Bell focused on whatever he was doing on the computer.After a few moments, Bell's fingers had stopped rigorously tapping on the keyboard as he stared at the screen, eyes still moving across the screen. Bell then straightened up from his once hunched position, grasping the edges on the computer and walking over to the projector, the screen flashing before connecting with the computer held in Bell's hands.

 

Price's and Gaz's eyes both widen as an image of General Barkov fills the screen, as well as other Russian military ID profiles. Bell looks at the screen before going back to tapping at his keyboard the Cyrillic translation to English before their eyes. Bell looks at the screen, bringing his hands away from the keyboard to rest on each side of the computer. 

 

“I looked through some Russian military files to find out who would have been deployed the closest to where the gas was hidden; the only profile that showed was General Barkov, who at the time was just starting in the general command position,” Bell informs. Looking from the screen to the assembled ground, Bell sees how their faces glint and change with understanding, but Captain Price’s and Sergeant Garrick’s faces flicker with recognition. “I also found later details from some of your reports, Captain,” Bell says, eyes locking with the `141 captain’s. 

 

“That while General Barkov was alive, he had collaborated with the terrorist Vladimir Makarov, and you came by this information while you were deployed into Uzbekistan, where General Barkov's main operation was.” Bell finalises a smirk evident in the way his eyes crease.

 

Price leans forward in his seat, a hand caressing his beard, his eyes far off as he processes the information; Gaz, on the other hand, looked at Bell with an awed look, glancing at the screen’s displayed images before returning his attention to Bell; Soap’s jaw looked like it was about to hit the floor, and Ghost was simply looking at the projected screen before returning his gaze to the other pictures that were confined in Naga’s file. 

 

On the opposite side of the table, similar reactions had taken place. Jackal's eyes were wide in shock; Wraith had a shit-eating smirk tearing through her face as Knight begrudgingly handed her a twenty-dollar note. Kitsune was shaking her head at Knight and Wraith's antics while Naga looked proud as ever. 

 

“Barkov stole the gas and gave it to Makarov. It makes sense; a few years later, Makarov was imprisoned, and his priority became getting himself out of Zordaya and not gassing the entire world.” Price muttered, removing his hand from his mutton chops and instead running it through the loose strands of his hair. Soap looks at the captain and then glances at everyone else in the room before standing up. “So now that we know how Makarov got the gas, how do we stop him? You didn’t mention how we’d do that, Bell, just that you had...allies,” Soap points out, gesturing loosely at the group on the opposite side of the table. 

 

Bell is knocked from his momentary victory at Soap's words. Fuck, he hadn’t thought of that. Bell knows that they have the gas canister contained in a heavily guarded base; all they needed was a way to disable the gas and make it nonlethal, but the only person who would know how to do that would be Stone, and he's in prison—wait a minute.

Bell nods at Soap's words, the gears in his head already turning as he walked away from the computer and towards the table. At his approach, Soap sat back down in his seat. Bell rested his hands on the table, eyes looking at each person that sat at the table before looking over his shoulder at Naga, who gave him a sharp nod. Bell redirected his attention to those who sat at the table. 

 

“How open are you to a prison break?” 

Notes:

Hello everyone! hope you enjoy this chapter!

so I hope you can understand if I don't update for a while school is just starting for me and I've got exams to do this year (AUGGHHHHH)

as always stay safe and have a good day/night!

PLEASE leave comments on what you think PLEASE!

Chapter 14: Goodbyes and grievances

Summary:

Bell has to leave his old friends to finally find out how to neutralize Nova six, thing don't exactly go to plan though.

Bell now stood in the designated ‘guest’ barracks that Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz all were currently sleeping in.

After Soap's frankly hilarious injury and recovery, it took them far longer than Price would have liked for them to get back on their feet. 

 

“So, a prison break?” Ghost said, glancing up at Bell from his position sitting on a plush couch as he cleaned the blade of a knife.

Bell nodded as he grabbed the recently poured coffee from its place under the machine; the small, almost apartment-like barracks had a small kitchenette and lounge placed together in a wide-open room connected to the bedroom via hallways.

 

“Yes, Stone knows how to render Nova six useless; he’s our best shot at neutralising the gas.”

Bell answers, swirling his spoon around in his mug, watching as the dark brown liquid spun.

Every conversation with Ghost felt like trying to avoid broken glass with every word, a step in the dark not knowing what to expect. 

 

Bell watches as Ghost simply hums before looking back down at the knife in his hands, rubbing the blade against the fabric cloth more fiercely.

Bell looks away, bringing the cooling mug to his lips, the bitter taste of coffee tearing through his taste buds, the caffeine going straight to his brain. 

 

The sound of a door down one of the hallways opening snaps Bell and Ghost’s attention away from their individual activities to watch as Price steps into the room from a connecting hallway.

 

“Laswell gave us the go-ahead, but instead of a breakout, she set up a private visit. When I told her who you were planning on breaking out, she sent me a long, long list of war crimes and other unsavoury things about Stone, so she set up the meeting because half of these warrant that our gas man won’t see the light of day if I or anyone else can help it.” 

 

Price's words shot right through Bell, ‘No breakout? Shit, this isn't going well.’ Bell thought.

If he couldn’t get Stone out of that prison, he’d have to tell Naga that his new allies weren't willing to break his oldest and fellow mercenary out of hell, if what Naga had described from the reports that other Perseus agents and spies on the inside were correct, and knowing Naga, he had no reason to lie.

 

‘Go with the flow, I guess.’ The thought thrummed against Bell’s skull; he cleared his throat, finding it to be dry.

“Alright, just a word of warning though, Naga and the others won’t like that. They want Stone to be back here with them—”

his hidden attempt at trying to get his old band of comrades back together gets cut off by Ghost.

 

“Then it's good that we don't take orders from them and that we take orders from command, right soldier?”

Ghost queries intently, staring Bell down from his perch on the edge of the couch, “Yeah right, of course,” Bell says, his voice grating, a slither of annoyance caught in his tone, a small fake smile stretching on his face like an itch he couldn’t get rid of.

 

Price casts a cautious glance at Bell, the corners of his eyes squinting slightly. He clears his throat, breaking the growing tension.

“Wheels up in 10, gear up.” Price finalises turning back down the hallway, no doubt to get ready for the trip.

 

Bell sculls the last remnants of his coffee, discarding the mug before bounding down the hallway to his own room, feeling Ghost's eyes searing into his back as he leaves.

---

The beating sound of helicopter blades makes Bell raise his head towards the sky as the long grass airstrip stretches out around him.

Naga and Kitsune were seeing him off, the other Perseus agents staying behind to hold the fort and complete missions that Bell hadn't been notified of.

 

 Not that he could blame them for leaving him out of the loop; he had been MIA for 40 years and didn’t immediately contact them after basically coming back from the dead. Speaking of which, the weirdest thing about being back with his old comrades was how they hadn't changed at all in forty years: no wrinkles, no fatigue, no grey hairs, and now was his last chance to find out.

 

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask, how have you not aged in forty years?” Bell asks the plain green balaclava once again secured over his face, a dark pair of sunglasses covering his eyes.

His tone was humorous, but anyone who knew Bell well could hear the genuine interest and caution in his tone as he spoke.

 

Kitsune shifted her weight from foot to foot, rolling her shoulders back to appear more relaxed.

She took a deep breath through her nose before she spoke quietly, having Bell’s ears strain to hear what was being said. 

 

“After Stitch died, Naga here, cooked up some kind of drug with some kind of medicine we found in a CIA lab we raided; it messed with our heads a bit, but it basically did the same thing that happened with you; it preserved our bodies to the point that we didn't age. Except in your case, you were unconscious.” She explained, crossing her arms casually like they were talking about the weather.

 

“Right…” Bel spoke gobsmacked, ‘Okay, magic drugs that don’t make you age? That makes sense, I guess.’

The thought thrummed in Bell's head until the wind and dust kicked up around him as the helicopter descended, landing softly on the fresh grass. 

 

Bell watched as the other members of 141 stepped towards the parked helicopter, their duffle bags in hand or strapped to their backs as they entered the helicopter for the flight to the Netherlands.

 

Bell sighed, turning back to Kitsune and Naga. “I’ll see the both of you soon… hopefully.”

He spoke before walking away towards the waiting helicopter, pushing himself off the ground and anchoring himself on the steel floor as he entered the helicopter, strapping himself into the seat, the helicopter blades buzzing and thrumming as the helicopter lifted off the ground and began to cut through the air toward the ICC detention centre. 

 

---

 

The flight was a rough and bumpy affair, but after they landed on the concrete airstrip, Bell's eyes glanced around the area as the helicopter doors slid open, catching sight of several guards armed with batons and guns, the deep green camouflage of their uniforms reflecting in the small rain puddles.

 

Price exited the helo first, followed by Ghost, Soap, and then Gaz, and finally Bell left the helicopter last, his boots splashing in a small puddle as he exited the helicopter.

 

A man steps forward from one of the assembled groups that stood on the airstrip. The man was dressed in the same camouflage garb as the others, but adorned on his chest were several pins and ribbons decorating the left side of his uniform. 

 

“Captain Price, it is good to finally meet your acquaintance.” He spoke, his voice tight and assertive, but Price paid it no mind as they both shook hands, nodding to each other before releasing each other from their tight grip.

“Likewise, warden.” Price nodded as the warden led the task force across the lengthy airstrip towards a looming castle-like building.

The brick-built structure glared down at Bell and his colleagues as they entered the elaborate gates.

The mood of the building immediately changed as they entered; bright, sterile lights shone from the enclosed, and the biting smell of antiseptic burnt his nostrils as the scent wafted into his face, his eyes watering slightly from the intensity. 

 

Price and the others didn’t seem affected by the harsh smell of the prison as they were led deeper into the stronghold, passing by numerous cells and heavily guarded areas.

 Every time they passed a cell, its occupants stopped whatever they were previously doing to stare at the passing soldiers; some muttered curses, some saluted them; it was a weird combination of hatred and respect from the prisoners.

 

Bell knew deep down that the crime that he's committed against other people should have given him a one-way ticket to this place, for the things that he had done not only when he was employed by Perseus but also for what he had done when the CIA had him employed.

 

The warden led them deeper and deeper, and slowly the white sterile walls dimmed into a custard brown wallpaper that was slowly peeling.

They had turned at several corners and had gone down several hallways to get to this point.

Now they stood in front of an interrogation room with two connecting doors, one to the observation room that viewed the cell from the many, many cameras that were concentrated from every corner of the room.

 

The door next to it led to the actual interrogation room. The warden opened the door, and when both Bell and Price went to step forward, he raised a hand.

“Only one person can go in. I’m sorry, Captain, but it’s policy,” he explained, casting a cautious glance in Bell’s direction.

Price nodded, turning on his heels to look at Bell.

“Well, make sure you get us that intel. We’ll be watching, mate.”

He says smiling slightly, but the underlying pressure is not missed by Bell, and he feels himself step forward and through the large door, his eyes scanning the room as he enters, only to find a singular table with two chairs; in one chair sat Stone.

 

The British man had not changed much from what Bell could see at first glance, but as he moved closer to sit opposite the Brit, he saw the dark purplish bags under the other man's eyes and the lingering stress lines carved into his forehead.

A pang of sadness shot through Bell's heart at seeing his old friend so tired.

 

But the bright smile that Stone gave him did a lot to soothe the ache in his chest. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, boss.”

Stone's sassy and jovial tone made Bell laugh slightly as he sat down in the metal chair opposite him; Stone's hand had been secured with handcuffs that were chain-linked to the centre of the table.

 

“Yeah, well, never thought I’d see you here Stone, but here we are.” He replied, giving a strained smile that Stone couldn’t see under his balaclava.

Stone sighs, nodding his head. The Brit had changed quite a bit from what Bell could now see; the man's thin, curly hair was gone, now replaced by a fuzzy buzz cut, and Stone’s meticulously customised tac vest and other gear were gone, replaced by a grey cotton prisoner's uniform.

 

“You look like shit.” Bell huffed, smirking. Stone maturely responded by giving Bell the middle finger.

They both smiled at each other, and Bell could only imagine 141’s annoyance at the lack of intel they were getting.

“Anyway, what the fuck are you doing here, boss? Didn’t think you were throwing in the towel with these fuckers.”

Stone glares looking up at a security camera dangling from the corner, staring it down. 

 

Bell smirks softly at Stone's words. “Yeah, well… I just need to ask you a few questions.” He says, simply folding his hands together and placing them on the table.

Stones eyebrows raise, his eyes widening as he blinks at Bell.

“Holy shit. You're working with those fuckers!? You're a mad cunt boss.” Stone exclaims, rocking back in his chair; the chain connecting to the cuff is pulled taut at the action.

 

Bell’s smirk falls slightly at Stone's words: “As much as I want to catch up with you... I'm on a tight schedule.” Bell shifts backward in his seat, his eyes rising from his hands to look Stone in the eye.

Stone leaned the chair forward, the front legs of the chair hitting the concrete floor with a small bang.

 

Stone signed, glaring up at corner cameras once more before turning to Bell, shrugging, “Ask away, boss.”

His voice wasn't angry, and for that, Bell was grateful.

He drove straight into the questions, and after each one, Stone gave answers to all of them, outlining how and what to use to render Nova six useless.

 

“Why do you need to know this stuff, mate? The gas canisters are long gone by this point.”

Stone's question and puzzled look made Bell pause for a second, stunned. ‘Right, I haven't told him.’ Bell recollected before speaking.

 

“Right, uhm. The canisters resurfaced a few weeks ago. They were disguised as another gas so that they would be disposed of incorrectly, and now we have several warehouses bursting with the stuff, and if we don't neutralise it soon, I'll land back in the wrong hands.”

Bell recalled staring straight into Stone's eyes, watching as the other man took in his words, only offering a small hum after Bell finished speaking.

 

“Your starting to sound less and less like you used to, Mak—”

Stone began to speak, and Bell clamped down on his wrist firmly, squeezing it, a harsh command not to finish his sentence, not to say that damned forsaken name that he had happily responded to all those years ago, the gods-damned name that would shatter the facade he had put up due to his distrust.

As soon as Bell's hand slammed against Stone's wrist, Bell could feel a million eyes zoned in on him from the other side of the cameras perched in all corners of the room.

 

Bell released Stone's wrist, withdrawing his hand, clearing his throat softly, watching as Stone's face rapidly changed, eyes hardening, eyes flickering to the camera, then back to Bell, who began speaking again. 

 

“Thank you for your cooperation, Stone."

The shallow words Bell spoke felt like shards of glass being pushed down his throat as he stood up from the small metal chair that dug into his back.

His heart was going a million miles per second, thundering in his ears as he opened the metal door, stepping out of the interrogation room and sealing Stone in it once again.

Bell’s feet managed to walk towards the neighbour, his hand pushing open the door and stepping past the entrance. 

 

The suffocatingly small room blinked into focus the dim lights of the TVs mounted on the wall projecting images of Stone still sitting at the interrogation table glimmer in the small space.

 

Price’s nauseatingly suspicious eyes met with Bell’s; his mouth was moving, the sound hitting Bell’s ears like an ear-piercing screech.

 

“What the hell was that?’

 

 Bells's gut jolted.

 

‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now?’

Notes:

Heya! hope you all enjoy this new chapter, sorry for the late update!

I hope you all have a good day/night.

Thank you all for the support it really means a lot to me that your all enjoying this fanfic, thank you all so so so much <3

(pleas leave comments i love hearing what you guys think!)

Chapter 15: My rage burns hot and spreads like wildfire.

Summary:

.......We have a job to do.

Bell flinched slightly at the tone of Price's voice, his hands clenching. Bell took a deep breath, centering himself.

“It was nothing, Captain; Stone was merely going to say something that he would regret. I stopped him... It is old history between us.”

 

The half-lie still felt sour on his tongue as he spoke; despite the truth it still held, he was stopping Stone from saying something that he would regret, and it was old history between them.

But still, something about lying to Price and lying to the others made Bell's stomach twist.

 

Bell let the feeling wash over him like chilling water, letting it dig and sting at his scars. He cleared his throat.

“So I assume you recorded the information we came here for?” He asks, trying to mitigate the real problem, drawing attention away from his fumble and towards the task at hand. 

 

Price took the bait. He nodded, “Yes, we got what we came for,” he answered, picking up a small USB from a table and placing it in the front pocket of his vest, securing it inside.

Price turned to the warden, speaking professionally.

“As always, thank you for your hospitality, warden.” Price nodded respectfully, shaking hands with the warden. “It's my pleasure, captain.”

the warden responded smirking slightly before eyeing Bell who almost shivered at the suspicious glare.

 

Price nods once more before brushing past Bell to exit the room; the warden follows with soap and Gaz close behind.

As Bell went to leave A rough hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around before smacking him into the wall.

Bell grunted at the impact, eyes flicking wide open as Ghost pinned him against the wall, looming over him like a reaper sent straight from his nightmares. 

 

“Ghost, what the fu—” Bell's words are cut short by the ghost's harsh collection of words that chilled Bell to the bone.

“You are hiding something. I don’t know what it is, and I don't particularly care, but I swear if it interferes with this mission and if it puts soap- this team in danger, I will kill you. Slowly.”

Bell’s hands trembled slightly, and he found himself nodding.

“Yeah...yeah, of course.” He muttered the words, spilling past his lips, a desperate attempt to soothe the behemoth of a man’s temper.

Ghost huffed, pushing off of Bell and walking out of the room.

 

Bell stood there stunned, leaning his back against the wall as he released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

‘Holy shit,’ he thought to himself. The shock of what just happened melted off him quickly, his eyebrows furrowed. When the ghost was threatening him, he stuttered.

 

The threatening scene plays out again in Bell's mind.

Ghost had stuttered when speaking about the team; he spoke about Soap before he corrected himself and changed to the team.

 

Bell had noticed before how close Soap and Ghost seemed; he had never seen one without the other.

When Soap was injured in Laos, Ghost stuck by his side, barely leaving the room. The only time that Bell had seen Ghost alone was when Price informed them that they were leaving that day. 

 

So the infamous Ghost did have a weakness, and it was none other than John's soap, Mactavish. 

 

Bell quickly brought himself together before exiting the room and running down the hallway to catch up to his team, who were already boarding the helicopter parked patiently on the airstrip of the facility.

 

Bell climbs into the helicopter, and once more they take off, lifting into the sky. The flight, like all the others before it, was a calm and silent affair, with Bell not daring to look at any of the others, especially not Ghost. 

 

The landing was relatively smooth, as was exiting from the aircraft, but something was itching at the back of Bell's mind.

His eyes scanned the base they had landed at; it was a normal army base, not meant for special forces officers to just come wandering through from what Bell could tell from the bewildered looks he received from other soldiers before they returned to their duties.

 

Bell and the others followed Price into the main hub of the facility, entering a meeting room and taking a seat with the others before Laswell entered the room, taking the info hard drive from Price, and sending it through to command.

 

“Good job, boys, another job well done.”

She congratulated tem, looking at each of them, but when her eyes met Bell's face, something changed; it was small; her smile seemed to slip slightly, and Bell was sure he wasn't just seeing things.

 

Laswell cleared her throat before speaking softly and calculated her focus mainly on price and soap.

“But... there is something you should see.” She explains clicking the remote of the TV screen mounted on the wall. The screen flashed on a breaking news broadcast, illuminating the group's eyes. 

 

The broadcast of a court scene progressed before their very eyes; at one of the desks at the congress court sat the general, General Shepard.

At the sight of the general, Bell immediately heard an annoyed groan come from Soap that was quickly silenced by a not-so-discreet elbow in the side from Gaz.

“—General Shepard, in October of 2022, did you authorize a shadow company to fire on a task force under your command in Las Almas, Mexico…?”

The congressman's question filled the TV speakers. The sound of 141 members' tension, especially soap and ghosts, echoed in Bell's ears.

He took note of every sound, every blemish in the team's almost impenetrable mental shields.

 

“No, I did not,” was the general's curt answer that made Soap scoff.

Bell caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head.

“What kind of bullshit is this—” Soap’s words were cut short by Ghost: “Quiet, Johnny, let's see how this goes.”

Ghost’s almost soft tone was a shock to Bell’s ears; damn, he really does care for soap, doesn't he?

The thought stirred in Bell's head before he brought his attention back to the TV and the event playing out in real time. 

 

“Mr. Graves, were you given orders to use lethal force against TF-141?” Bell watched as the questioning continued.

 

Phillips' responses were drowned out as Bell's attention was drawn to someone sitting in the back row of the courtroom dressed in a familiar black leather jacket and a familiar red scarf wrapped around her neck. 

 

Bell’s breath caught in his throat.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ The mantra repeated in Bell's head over and over, his heart pounding, old painful memories resurfacing again and threatening to boil him over the edge.

“It appears the subject's programming is beginning to take hold.” Her voice thunders in his head; a sudden twisting pain shoots through his eye, making his skin bristle, making him grimace slightly, reaching up to touch his eye.

 

His pain seemed to draw attention because before he knew it, a warm, comforting hand was on his shoulder.

Squeezing softly, Bell blinked his eyes open and said, Gaz smiling softly at him, the other man leaning over to whisper to him,

“You alright mate, you just went really pale, do you need me to take you to medical?” Gaz’s concern snapped Bell out of his hazy stupor, the long-forgotten memories being buried once again.

 

“Ah, no, I'm alright, just... reliving bad memories,” he muttered, seeing a soft smile grace Gaz’s deep brown face felt like a warm hug to Bell.

Gaz reminded him so much of Lazar, and it made him feel even more guilty that he allowed Lazar to die if he had just been quicker—

Once again, Bell's thoughts were interrupted again by Soap letting out a low whistle, still watching the scene play out on the TV.

“Fucking hell… They stabbed each other in the back!” he exclaimed, his rageful glare focusing in on the screen. It almost made Bell laugh, almost.

 

Bell heard Price's gruff voice speak up, “That's the difference between us and them. So Kate, what was the other thing you wanted to talk to us about?”

Price questioned standing up and looking at Laswell, who hummed and nodded, leading them out of the meeting room towards a more enclosed room.

The floor was made of concrete, and the walls were uninsulated steel. 

 

There was a table that the group promptly sat at Bell was sitting in between Soap and Gaz with Price and Ghost on the outskirts of the table.

Infront of them was a large projector with a smaller projector to the side the crude setup a lar leap down from the lavish room they were once in, but this one was easily more secure and that alone made Bell feel uneasy.

 

What was going on here?

 

As the thought swam through Bell's mind, the smaller screen flicked on, and General Shepard appeared with his medals adorning his chest, a serious drawn look stretching across his face.

Bell saw once again how Soap tensed his fists, balling them into fists from where they rested on the table in front of the group. 

“Thank you for finally joining us. Now I have something to speak to you lot about—”

Before the general can finish, Soap snaps indignantly, “If it doesn't have anything to do with Makarov and where the fuck he is, we aren’t interested.”

The Scotsman huffed, sneering at each word that came out of his mouth, seething with malicious intent.

Bell could feel a smile growing on his face despite the few bumps here and there with his relationship with 141.

The good always outweighs the bad, so much so that he found himself feeling more comfortable around them. 

 

“Hear what I have to say before you make your decisions, Sargent,” the general hisses angrily before continuing.

“Not too long ago I came across some interesting information regarding your new member, and I thought it was important to share it with you all, seeing as it is clear that he hasn't told you himself.”

What.

The.

fuck.

The general's words were smooth, calculated, and planned; the tone itself was enough to make Belly feel uneasy, but the words themselves made Bell felt his gut churn.

What the hell did he know? And more importantly, how much of it is he sharing? The thought thundered again and again.

 

“You see, your new friend Bell has had quite an... extensive relationship with the CIA when he was an active operative under their command, but before that, he had quite an interesting resume, didn't you? Samuel Makarov?” 

 

Bell froze; his heart stopped, but his mind, his mind was racing, and it just wouldn’t stop.

 

It all happened at once, too quickly and agonizingly slow at the same time, and Bell witnessed it all, every gut-wrenching second. 

 

Bell saw as Price’s eyes widened and glared at him; Bell saw as Gaz took several steps away from him, staring wide-eyed at a man he had just comforted a few seconds ago; Bell saw as Ghost reached towards his hip.

towards the hostler that held a gun that held a bullet that would probably soon be in Bell's skull; and Bell saw as Soap just sat there, perfectly in reach, perfectly vulnerable.

the perfect target. 

 

Bell's instincts took hold of him, and he lunged, his right hand extended towards Soap, his left drawing down towards his own holster.

His fingertips felt the fabric of Soap’s collar, and he pulled.

Soap's body crashed against his, almost throwing Bell off balance. Almost. 

 

His arm wrapped around Soap's throat, his leg kicking out, knocking Soap's knees out, sending the other man falling to the floor, Bell’s hand wrapped around the hilt of his gun, and he swung the muzzle, smacking against Soap's skull with a sickening crack in an attempt to get the other man to stop struggling and comply, Bell leveled the muzzle to Soap's head and pressed.

 

At his current position, even if they managed to land a clear shot at him, he would be able to pull the trigger, and at the angle he was pressing the muzzle onto Soap's forehead, the sergeant would be dead in seconds.

 

“Nobody moves.” Bell demands coldly his eyes narrowing flicking from each member to the other, and there it was, finally the sliver of his Russian accent bleeding into his voice, pure and true; this felt right.

His words were met with absolute silence, his eyes darting around the room, his gaze meeting Gaz’s shocked, almost mournful face, Price’s enraged expression, and Ghost's hauntingly calm demeanor.

Bell could see the cracks; he could see the way that Ghost's hands trembled at his side slightly, the way that Price's hand clenched and twitched enticingly to draw his weapon similarly to Ghost, but Gaz’s hands lay limp at his side. 

 

But Bell's eyes met with the other two people in the room, who seemed eerily calm.

“You, how the hell did you find out?” He growled at Laswell, his eyes also flicking up at the general who was watching the whole ordeal happen like a shitty guardian angel.

 

“We found old documents from the cold war detailing a terrorist commander with the name Samuel Makarov. We found reports showing that he disappeared two months before you began working for the CIA as a special clandestine officer. Your profiles matched, so we took a wild guess, but your reaction just confirmed it.”

 

Every word that came from the general's mouth grated against Bell's nerves, and if he had the chance to shoot the general, oh, he wouldn't think twice.

Hot bubbling rage burned through his veins; his grip tightening on the pistol, he continued to press against Soap's skull.

 

“Here’s how things are going to go.” Bell-Samuel now-really, hissed, his voice a threatening rumble as he whispered to Soap, “I’m going to release you; do not try to run, do not try to fight, because I promise you, you will end up dead one way or another, Mactavish.”

He spat, watching impatiently as Soap nodded, raising his hands as Samuel released the chokehold, the gun’s muzzle still roughly pressed against Soap’s temple.

 

With his right hand now free, Samuel reached up to his vest, his hand flicking on his radio, changing through channels until he found the right one, It was an old channel but naga's men still used it so it was safe to assume that the others would to.

“This is 0-1,Send reinforcements to my location.”

 

As he spoke, Samuel saw as the others tensed even further, but he also saw how Lasswell's eyes widened, realization lighting up in her pupils.

  A sharp reply came through the radio a voice unmistakanbly naga's. "On it!" his words were rushed and frantic.

 

The doors to the room slammed open, heavily armed soldiers fielded through, aiming rifles at Samuel's riot shields held firmly in front of them.

The red and green dots decorate Samuels' exposed body, most of his vitals still protected by Soap's body. 

 

One of the soldiers stepped past the line of riot shields.

“Now, now, Bell, there is no need for this to get messy. Lower your gun; after all, we have a job to do."

 

Bell felt his whole body flood with rage, pure, unrivaled, burning, insistent rage. 

 

“Adler.” 

Notes:

HEY! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! thank you all for the support you've gifted me it means so much to me words cannot express how grateful I am, thank you all so much.

Chapter 16: Just a rat in a cage.

Summary:

bell doesn't have a good time.

Bell’s heart was thundering in his chest, the room seemed to shrink around him. Bell’s eyes danced around the room suddenly, very aware of how many enemies were in the room with him, new and old. 

 

Bell quickly snaps the gun away from Soap's temple, the kneeling man flinching slightly at the sudden change, Bell’s hand is still securely tightened around Soap's shoulder keeping the sergeant kneeling at his feet. Bell levels the barrel at Adler's torso, the gun shaking slightly as his arm trembles unwillingly.

 

“Adler.” Bell repeats shakily, his world spinning on its axis as he takes in the man standing before him blocking the doorway to his only escape. The years had visibly taken an effect on Adler and it made Bell’s skin crawl.

With His greying hair and the wrinkles that curled against his skin the toll of the years had hit heavy but Bell could see from a glance that Adler's mind was as sharp as ever. 

 

“Bell,” Adler responds with his tone staying that same infuriating calm despite the gun that Samuel has pointed directly at his chest, if he just squeezed his fingers-

 

”Put the gun down Bell, you're outnumbered and outarmed.” Alder says taking a few tentative steps towards Bell who straightens his grip on the gun in his hand “Don’t!...don't come any closer!” Bell demanded his breathing had become erratic and strained.

Thinking about Adler was enough to make Bell rage, but seeing him in person? Hearing his gravelly voice grating against the last of Bell’s nerves was enough to make Bell's soul burn. Adler’s cold and calm demeanor never falters as he continues to approach Bell, a smile twisting on Adler's face

“Come on bell. We both know you would have shot me by now. And hostages?” Adler mocks, tilting his head at Soap, who is still kneeling near Bell’s feet, but Soap is slowly inching his way away due to how distracted Bell currently is. 

Bell's hands instinctively tense around the trigger of the gun getting ready to pull the trigger, to end the wretched life of a man who should have died by his hands years ago. Bell felt his finger twitch down on the trigger but before the bullet could leave the gun chamber Adler leaped forward, his hand clamping down on Bell's wrist. 

 

Bell felt himself thud against the floor and before he knew it he was swinging, his fist connected with Adler's side making the older man wince at the impact, Bell swung against him and Adler locked into a fist fight with each other, limbs tingling and blood spilling on the cold floor. 

 

Adler's fist connects with Bell's nose, and Bell's fist connects with Adler's ribs over and over again the cycle continues with pain sprouting in all parts of Bell's body. 

Bell grunts at the pain sporting through his mussels and before he knew it a fist was connecting with his nose again this time a crack echoed through the room and Bell felt a pop and the gush and stink of fresh blood pooling from his nose, the pain was sharp and staging but more importantly, it was distracting. Bell could see darkness ebbing at the sides of his vision. 

 

Bell’s daze was crushed as he felt the cold muzzle of a familiar gun press against the sweaty skin of his forehead. Bell looked up, and a chill splintered down his spine as he looked at the gun wound tightly in Adler’s hand.

It was the same gun from Solovetsky, except cleaner, more pristine dirt and grim no longer marred the silvery metal now the gun was shining a clean and perfect weapon. Just like Bell was. 

‘Aint that fucking poetic?’ Bell mussed to himself silently as the darkness at the edge of his eyes started consuming his sight until he felt his body go limp. The cool feeling of rough plastic zip ties snatching onto his wrists would have made Bell laugh if he could. 

-

Bell’s consciousness slowly comes back to him as he opens his eyes only to shut them again, his eyes watering as a bright white light shines right into his eyes. Bell groans as pain as his wounds catch up to him “Мудак” The Russian swear spills from his lips easily as he tries to adjust his eyes to the bright light. 

 

Bell hears someone clear their throat off to the side of him and he slowly turns his head towards the noise. The bright light seemed to dim as he turned his head looking for the origin of the noise. Bell’s eyes latch onto the first person he sees. 

 

“Captain.” He croaks before clearing his throat as he looks at Price who’s looming over him. Bell tries to sit up only to realize he can't move. Bell casts his eyes down at his restrained body, thick leather straps clamp around his limbs keeping him restrained to the cool metal surface of the gunnery.

 

His eyes widen as panic sinks in, Bell blinks and suddenly he’s back in east Berlin strapped to similar gunnery pains littering around his body Lazar's death is a fresh memory in his mind. 

Bell blinks again and he feels sweat drip down his forehead “What the fuck?” he hisses as his eyes flick back to Price, who did not attempt to move or to even address Bell. Bell felt something swirling in his gut, something was wrong. 

His vision blurs slightly from tears, he squeezes his eyes shut the tears streaming down his face as he continued to look around the room his mind swimming trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. 

As Bell's head twists to the side a rough gloved hand grabs the back of his head before a leather strap snaps around his forehead smacking his head against the gunnery the elastic stripe secured over his forehead makes it impossible for him to raise his head even an inch. 

 

“Ready to take a little trip down memory lane Bell?” a silky female voice speaks up sensually but Bell’s eyes narrow at the sound of the familiar voice his head swivels towards the origin of the noise only to meet eyes with none other than Hell Park.

 

She was wearing a similar outfit to the one she had casually worn in the safehouse in Berlin all those years ago, the same leather jacket secured around her shoulders loosely, the high knitted turtleneck, and a red scarf wrapped tightly around her neck covering the scars of her failures. Her words ignite a fiery rage in Bell’s chest that is quickly quelled by fear as he notices what she holds in her hand. 

 

It's a needle.

 

Bell’s blood runs cold and her words finally sink in. 

 

fuck 

 

f̷̢͐ṵ̵̆c̸̮̓k̵̮̔ 

 

f̴̠̟͌͗ͅù̸̥̔̅c̴̯̃͊͘ͅk̴̤͍̹̏̀ 

 

F̷̪̩͊͝u̵̦̪̼̎̽c̸̢̧̧͛k̶̰̲̎̅

 

f̴͎͕̯̭͕̊̋͑́͝u̴̡͓͖̲͆ͅć̷̡̺̰͖̗̝͇̯͗̊̅ķ̵͗͒͐͠. 

 

The creak of a metal door snaps Bell's attention away from his swirling thought of doom and depression, towards the now-opening door to the right of where Price still stood stoic and unmoving. 

 

Adler enters through the door and the bell can catch a glimpse of ghosts, soap, and gazes standing behind at a distance, their gazes locked onto something off to the side. Security camera’s Bell concludes his eyes swinging to the corners of the room where sure enough, small cameras sat their lenses gazing at his defeated state.

 

“I’ll kill you for this.” Bell hisses his eyes flicking back at Adler, another tear had fallen from his left eye but he did not feel it until Adler reached out a rough hand, tempered by years of work and stained with the blood of hundreds, towards bells cheek wiping the stray tear away like one would swat away a fly. 

 

It was harsh, unforgiving. But it still held a tenderness that made Bell feel sick. “You didn't answer Park’s question bell. Are you ready for a trip down memory lane?” Adler questions brushing off Bell’s threat. Bell gritted his teeth together

“What the hell do you think Adler? You think I want to remember sucking you off in Berlin?” Bell's harsh degrading words sang in the air around him, Bell felt hurt by his own words but he didn't know why.

 

Bell watched as Adler sneered, it was strange seeing Adler without his glasses. The thought was broken sharply as Adler reached over Bell's trapped body to retrieve the needle held in Park's hand. “You always were too damn cocky for my liking Bell.” Adler hisses and Bell opens his mouth to retort, to curse, to threaten. To say something that would hurt Adler.

 

But as his lips opened to curse Adler to the lowest pit of hell, Bell watched helplessly as Adler quickly uncapped the needle.

And plunged it right into Bell's right eye. 

 

---

 

Soap winces as he hears Bell’s scream tear through the camera speakers echoing slightly as the sound bleeds through the reinforced metal door that stands not too far away from him, Garrick, and Ghost.

“This is fucked.” He growled rubbing a hand overtop of his mohawk, the hair brushing against his gloves. He couldn’t help but feel bad for Bell, sure the bastard had been a traitor and…a Makarov from the very beginning but Soap couldn’t help but question what the point was of doing this.

Seeing that Adler's fellow lobotomized Bell with a needle, hearing the bell's screams, and watching the scene unfold with his LT and fellow sergeant at his sides made him feel uneasy for several reasons. 

 

This was wrong, and telling by the way that Garrick is shifting from foot to foot he agrees as well. 

 

“Why didn't he just tell us?”’ Garrick questions staring intently at the screen as Bell thrashes in the leather and restrains the woman pushing him down into the gunnery, the CIA officer Adler is his name soap’s pretty sure. Leans down and whispers something that the camera speakers can't catch.  

 

“What, that he’s gay?” Ghost responds clearly trying to lighten the mood but the lieutenant only receives two unimpressed glares from the sargents. They had been able to hear Bell's snarky comments about him and Adler..relationship but it just made soap wonder. How close were these two? What went wrong? 

 

But the question that was gnawing at the crevasses of Soap's brain was. 

Why didn't Bell tell them? Sure they weren't that close but still they had fought side by side with the soldier. And the addition that Bell was indeed a Makarov, a relative of the fucking terrorist they were hunting, hurt, it hurt a lot especially because Soap owed his life to the other man for getting him not only to safety but healthy again after the snake bit him in Laos. 

 

Soap grunts at the memory of his thigh aching, the snake bite had healed but the two puncture wounds on his thigh were still prominent despite the venom being flushed from his system and the wound being healed. 

 

Another harsh scream echoes through the speakers and this time soap flinches at the obvious pain laced in Bell’s frantic scream, this was different from the time they interrogated Andrei Nolan, this was personnel, and more importantly thai was wrong. 

 

Soap's swirling thoughts are quelled as he feels a skeletal gloved hand firmly cup his left shoulder soap turns his head to see a ghost holding his shoulder comfortingly, and Soap leans into the touch.

 

They would survive this with or without Bell. 

 

---

Bell's eyes burst open and he jolts forward his hand coming up to touch his bleeding eye.

He removed his hand seeing pale clean skin, he blinked he wasn't in pain, he wasn't bleeding. He was fine. Bell swung his head defensively towards the door of the room as he heard it creak open, his hand dashed towards his waist where his hands frantically searched for a holstered gun, but he found nothing. 

“Дядя?” (Uncle?) A small voice whispers and Bell looks down towards the bottom of the large mahogany door.

 

A small black-haired boy stood at the bottom of the door his head peeking out past the threshold, the child's pale skin a rosy cheeks stood out in the dim lighting but what was most striking about the small child was the mismatched green and blue eyes that shone in the moonlight that streamed through the large windows of the room. 

 

The child sniffles wiping at its nose with the long sleeve of its nightgown. “Мама и папа снова ссорятся, дядя.”(Mama and Papa are fighting again uncle.) The child hiccups and Bell felt his feet move from underneath him.

He found himself approaching the small child kneeling down to the child's height and wrapping his arms around the dark-haired boy in a comforting embrace. 

 

“Все будет хорошо, Володя.”( it will be alright Volodya) The words spill from his mouth as if they were predetermined, the boy Voldoya sobs against his chest clutching tightly to his clothes. 

 

Bell felt tears stream down his cheeks as he held the child, his nephew. His beloved, innocent nephew to his chest. 

 

He was with his family. He was safe. 

Notes:

OMG IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT

Life is a bitch and OMG I HATE ASSESSMENTS AUGHHHHH

Anyway thank you all for the support!

Drink some water eat some food and as always have a good day/night!

Chapter 17: Oh sweet nephew of mine.

Summary:

Bell is back to where he was all those years ago, stuck on a metal gurney having needles shoving into his eye.

Bell held his nephew close, his hand tangling in the thin black hair of his nephew. Bell felt his mouth moving. “Shh, shhh, ничего, я тебя уложу.” (Shh, shhh, it's alright; I’ll tuck you in.) Bell whispered, feeling Volodya shudder against him as a loud crash sounds from outside the door. 

 

Bell guides Voldoya towards the small plush bed, leading the boy to lie down as Bell pulls the sheets over Voldoya's shoulders. 

 

A loud crash sounds from down the hallway, and Bell scowls, but he pauses as he feels Volodya flinch, pulling the covers over his head, “постарайся поспать.” (try to get some sleep) Bell says carefully, his hand ruffling Voldoya’s hair, making the boy laugh softly before burying himself in the covers of Bell's bed. 

 

Bell strode over to the door and closed it softly behind him; another loud crash was heard, followed by a scream. Bell moved, rushing down the hallway, turning towards the kitchen, slamming the door open. 

 

His  sister in law lay crumpled on the floor, her arms covering her face as she cowered, his brother stood over her a broken bottle in hand the sharp points glistening with something Bell had seen far too much of. 

 

Blood.

 

Bell moved immediately, stepping forward towards his drunken brother, shoving the man backwards, and sending him crashing to the floor. 

 

Bell then turned to his sister-in-law. She was a sweet girl, innocent at best, naive at worst. He had no idea how his idiot brother had managed to woo her into marrying him, much less have a child with the idiot, but she brought his nephew into this world, and he would be forever grateful for that. 

 

Bell knelt down next to her, holding her shoulder as he guided her to stand on her shaking feet. “Ты в порядке?” "Are you alright?" he asked softly as he nudged her towards the lounge, sitting her down on the couch. 

 

She sniffled, looking up at him with teary eyes, nodding her head, not daring to speak as if it would anger him. Bell felt anger boil in his chest; his idiot brother had been getting drunk ever since their wedding, and Bell had seen how his confident brother had decomposed into a drunken fool who beat the woman he married.

 

Bell sighed, lifting his gaze to look into her eyes. “Я с ним разберусь.” (I’ll deal with him.) he muttered darkly before handing her a glass of water that had been lying nearby. 

 

Bell stood up and stomped towards the kitchen once again, only to find his brother wiping at his cut hand on his woollen t-shirt and a glass of beer in the other. Bell scowled, walking over to his brother and snatching the glass of beer from his hand, slamming it down on the table, and glaring at his brother, unimpressed.

 

His brother opened his mouth, no doubt to curse a slurred slur of words at his brother, but Bell didn't give him the chance as he raised his hand and backhanded his brother across the face.

“Что, черт возьми, с тобой не так, Анатолий!?” (What the hell is wrong with you, Anatoly!?) he cursed, raising his voice as he watched his brother slowly reach up to touch at his reddening cheek with the bloody hand before opening his mouth and releasing a torrent of swears at Bell.

 

But the words don't catch Bell's ears, only a faint whisper of another voice.

 

“Bell, we have a job to do.” 

 

A scream rips itself from Bell’s throat as he watches the world around him fracture like a broken mirror, the kitchen falling apart, splintering into pieces. Bell blinks, watching as his brother shatters. He moves without thinking, rushing towards the lounge, watching as his sister-in-law falls to the same fate as his brother, her body breaking at the seams as the cracks dart across the walls, roof, and floor. 

 

Bell continued running, his breath becoming battered with every breath; it hurt to breathe; it hurt; it hurt; everything hurt! He felt as if he was breaking, his skin splintering as he broke; he looked down at his hands as dark cracks darted across his skin.

 

He continued running; he couldn’t stop his legs from moving underneath him; it was like he was possessed. He kept running before crashing through a door, raising his head as he watched his nephew jump up from his bed, rushing over to his uncle, looking up at Bell. 

Voldoya’s mouth is moving, but Bell can't hear anything he’s saying, only a constant loud ringing in his ears before his nephew's voice cuts through it all. 

 

“You left me, uncle.” 

 

Bell blinked, looking down at Volodya. A tear streaming down the side of his face—that was weird? When did he start crying? Bell reached up to his eye that he felt the tears fall from touching his cheek, tentatively pulling his away as he looked down at it; his hand was red.

 

It was a tear; it was blood.

 

“You left me.” Volodya repeated but his voice changed it was..older more raggared bell looked up at his nephew now seeing a dark haired man dressed in a bulletproof vest a silver gun tightly held in his right hand. 

 

Bell opened his mouth to speak, to plead, to apologize. 

 

A bullet cuts his speech off, but no pain wraps through his body; he blinks, watching a river of blood pour from a hole in the middle of his nephew's temple.

Tears flowed from his eyes freely now as he tried to scream, to cry, to do anything, but he couldn't. He's paralyzed by his own grief until his breath catches in his throat as he feels hands pushing him downwards.

 

He struggles pushing forward; he blinks again and again, the world fading round him as he blinks one final time, and he hears voices blare into his ears. 

 

“EkG is spiking, Adler!” a female voice yells as more hands push him down. His arms were trapped, his legs were trapped, and he was trapped. He blinked again, a bright white light blinding him for a few seconds before the shadows of a figure surrounded him. 

 

“Fuck it, give him another dose,” a male voice hisses annoyed. Bell’s voice croaks as he tries to speak, but he is cut off as another piercing spike of pain throttles through his body. 

 

-

---

 

Gaz felt bile rise in his throat once again as a needle was shoved once again into Bell's eye. He had seen his fair share of fucked-up shit and dead bodies. Chemical gas that could kill you. But this? This took the fucking cake. 

 

He liked Bell; the man was a good soldier, confident, funny, and a bit weird at times, but he was a good man. but… Gaz didn't know how to feel when he saw Bell press his pistol into Soap's skull; he didn't know how to feel, and he didn't know how to feel now as he watched over and over as the CIA officer, Adler, and his associate, MI6 officer Park, basically tortured Bell over and over. 

 

But the one thing that really made Gaz’s skin crawl was the way his captain stood at attention and firmly clasped behind his back as he watched the scene play out in front of him. 

 

Gaz couldn’t watch anymore; this was wrong. Bell may have been a spy, traitor, or whatever the fuck he was, but doing this? This was wrong; there was no doubt about it in Gaz’s mind.

 

Gaz shuddered as another needle shoved into Bell's eye, a shattering scream echoing through the room; not even the soundproof walls could contain the pain and anguish singing from Bell's throat as he screamed. 

 

Gaz watched as Soap shuddered next to Ghost. They were both standing behind the one-way glass that allowed them to observe the gut-turning scene happening in front of them.

They could see their captain standing impassively off to the side as Bell thrashed against the restraints, blood slowly flowing from their eye as Adler leaned down, whispering words into the soldier's ear. Park was standing off to the side, monitoring Bell's vital signs. 

 

Bells's mouth was moving fast, words spilling from their mouth, words that Gaz couldn’t hear; curiosity gnawed at his bones. The need to understand what was going on gnawed at the back of his head, even if he could just get a whisper of what was going on in the other room; getting some clarity right now would be priceless. 

 

The questions swirled within Gaz’s mind only for them to be broken by Soap's voice, bringing his focus back to the present as another piercing scream shakes through the soundproof glass. “Fucking hell, this is….” Soap mutters, not finishing his sentence, staring unbelievably at the scene that continues to play in front of them in real time.

 

“Fucked up?” Ghost says blankly, finishing the sergeant's question as the lieutenants look down at Soap, who is now squatting tensely on a chair, his hands clasped tightly together.

 

Gaz huffed, leaning against the cold concrete wall, letting his body as much as he could, considering the current situation. “Fucked up is an understatement,” he said, watching as Soap nodded slightly, never taking his eyes away from the glass. 

 

The door connected to the other room opens, and Price steps through the threshold, giving the group a small glimpse into what was being discussed before the door slammed shut. 

 

Gaz pushed himself off the wall as he walked towards Price, who had his hands clenched at his side, his eyes locked onto the floor.

 

“The hell is going on in there, captain?’ Gaz asks, leaning forward, his ears perking up, waiting to catch the captain's every word. 

 

“You’ll find out soon, sergeant.” Price mutters, one hand taking his signature cap off, the other tussling through his hair, and he lets out a heavy sigh; his hand lowers as he rubs at his eyes.

 

“We should have never trusted him.” Price sighs with with a mournful look in his eyes.

 

-

Another scream, another jolt of pain. Bell was dying; he had to be dying. 

 

The dirt smeared across his face and hands as he jolted upright.

 

Where was he? 

 

You run forward and pick up an M16.

 

The voice vibrated through the crevices of his mind as he felt himself being flung forward, and sure enough, he felt the weight of an M16 fill his hands.

 

Bell blinks, and he's in…a bunker?

 

The gray, mottled walls drip with moss and other greenery creeping over the walls. Bell steps forward, stumbling over the uneven tiles protruding from the ground as he moves forward, finally finding his footing as he runs down the halls.

 

Bell didn't know why he was running; he just…was.

 

Why the hell is Bell in the bunker? Park gave him another dose.

 

The voice thrummed in his mind again as the hallways creaked and groaned around him; his eyes glanced around the hallways, finding a broken clock face barely attached to the wall as it swung. He stands in front of the broken clock face next to a burnt map of the world. Every country on its paper surface burnt away apart from Russia. 

 

Open the doorbell.

 

Bell turned his body, looking down the hallway, and at the very end stood a deep red metal door. Bell blinked, and suddenly he was standing in front of the door, his hand wrapped around the rusted metal of the door. 

 

He pushed downwards, making the handle creak, pushing the door open, and stepping through into the connecting room. 

 

The room was pitch black, a single small light illuminating a barstool. Bell stepped forward, sitting down on the barstool; the world suddenly swirled around him, his vision blurring as a bell dinged in his ear. 

 

Bell blinks, and he's in Laos.

 

A clinking of glass breaks him away from his dazed state, followed by a voice—Naga’s 

“So, boss, what's the next step?” Naga asks, leaning forward into Bell's line of sight. Bell blinks, and before he knows it, his mouth is moving before he can stop it.

 

“They're still distracted by the gas; we should be able to move forward in operation greenlight if the intel I provided is correct; if it isn't, we can still use the gas as a backup plan. Has my nephew contacted you yet? Bell questions receiving a small scoff from Naga.

 

“No. I don't think the kid knows you're alive, boss.” Bell hums a small smile to his words: “Well, it’ll be a family reunion; and the world will be our oyster.” Bell's voice is cold. It's as if his mind was detached from his body, watching things play out through his own eyes. He remembered that conversation with Naga at the bar, but... why was he seeing it again? What was happening? 

 

…what the fuck.

 

Shit.

 

….

 

Adler, the effects are wearing off!

 

Give him another dose!

 

There is none left!

 

Bell blinked again, but this time the world wasn't warped or disfigured; he was lying on a metal table, hands and legs strapped down. His eye hurt. Why did his eye hurt?

 

A gasp rippled through Bell as he felt his body go limp, realization crashing through him; he could feel himself shaking; he wanted to vomit. His memories come crashing back to him, each one more painful than the last.

 

Bell blinked again, turning his head to the side, his breath caught in his throat. Adler, Park, and Price all stood looking at him, their eyes wide. Bell opened his mouth to scream, to curse, to laugh at their naivete. To brag about his triumph, his betrayal. 

 

But his body wouldn’t give him the chance as he felt his eyes roll to the back of his head, and the world went dark. 

 

 

 

Notes:

thank you all for being so patient with this! I'm so sorry i haven't updated in a while school decided this term was the term for all the assessments so this fic wont be updated for a while, I'm so sorry but i hope you all enjoyed this!

have a good day/night drink some water and take care of yourselves!

Chapter 18: Run ya little bastards.

Summary:

the past repeated itself in more ways than one.

The steady beeping of a heart rate monitor reaches Bell's ears as he blinks his eyes open, only for them to be assaulted by the harsh white fluorescent lights hanging above him.

 

His body felt like he was floating, a mindless, droning, weightless feeling that made Bell feel sick; there was no doubt that he was pumped with pain medication.

 

His head whirled as he tried to remember how he got into this position; it felt like just yesterday he was lying in a hospital bed so similar to this one, except he wasn't restrained. 

 

Bell's eyes flicker down to the leather straps keeping him attached to the bed beneath him.

He couldn’t help but smile begrudgingly at that; Adler hasn't lost his touch. A gnawing mixed feeling of dread and spite simmers in his gut.

 

He had been caught over and over; now they knew what he was really doing.

 

When Bell had first joined Tf141, he had felt a kind of kinship with the other men; it was almost like how he felt in the Berlin safehouse when he was unaware of the traumas he had suffered, but that had all changed once they had interrogated Andrei.

 

Bell had felt a gnawing feeling of guilt tear up inside him whilst he watched Andrei's interrogation; he had managed to intervene in the end, but that didn't change the pain that Andrei had to suffer, and now Bell was in a similar situation.

 

But this time he had no way out, no savior to swoop down from the heavens and rescue him; Bell doubted that the other Perseus agents would come to rescue him now. The mission that he had given them was far too important. 

 

They couldn’t risk any distractions. 

 

Bell wouldn’t be the catalyst that would destroy years of planning, not this time and not ever again. 

 

The creak of a door made Bell tense, craning his neck to see who entered the room that contained him. 

 

“Woods.” Bell breathes a heavy feeling, dragging on in his cheeks, as he watches Woods roll into the room before stopping at Bell's bedside and leaning back, arms crossed over his chest. “Bell.” Woods says uncertainty, and Bell feels a pang of an emotion he cannot name as he looks at Woods's unmovable legs. 

 

“You look like shit.” Bell says a small smile crossing his face, Woods, Mason, and Lazar were the only ones who Bell felt were not using him for their own gain or something along those lines. 

 

Woods huffs humorously.

 

“Yeah, well, you're not exactly looking charming.” Woods bites back, and the two share a smile, but the smile quickly falls from Bell's face as he looks down at his own body, restrained like a deranged animal, and Bell guesses that was slightly correct;

 

he was deranged, broken, a tool that could no longer be used efficiently, but that didn't matter; he had done his part; he had given his nephew the chance to change the world; Bell silently hoped that Voldoya would use that chance well; they had one shot like they had all those years ago at Solovetsky.

 

“So…” Woods started slowly making Bell look back at him.

 

“Adler contacts me saying that you gave the greenlight codes to your terrorist nephew, as well as the gas that your buddies in Laos were supposed to disarm, and that your buddies in Laos are Perseus agents we thought were dead a long, long time ago.”

 

“Care to explain that, kid?” 

 

---

 

The CIA had been a mess for the past few days; Kate Laswell knew that better than anyone. Every officer in a frantic whirlwind sent out as many task forces as they could, deploying them to find the gas and…something else. 

 

Kate had not been privy to know what that something else was, but it was quite obvious that it had something to do with the ex-Soviet that they currently had locked away in a CIA black site.

 

Kate sat on the opposite side of a meeting she wasn't listening to. Price and his team were being sent into Urzikstan to bring Farah and her people back into the fold; Makarov had been busy for the past few days hitting weapons depots, filling the news with false facts that the ULF were terrorists. Kate had to admit the man was smart, unnervingly so. 

 

“Shadow can provide air support for the facility raid,” General Shepherd diplomatically asserts, his voice carrying through the speaker of Lasswell's computer. 

 

Shepard had commandeered this operation due to military command wanting one of their own in on this operation. 

 

The threat was larger than ever, and one of their own had handed their enemy the largest, most dangerous weapon stock in the world.

 

Operation Greenlight was going to be dismantled after the Cold War, but the Gulf War and other variables postponed the removal of the nukes, and right now they were facing the consequences.

 

Laswell had been given Bell's file when she was sent to remove them from the Swedish hospital that the ex-Soviet was occupying; Bell was an anomaly, and even more so as Laswell continued to read the soldier's file all those months ago.

 

Bell had proven himself a capable soldier in the past few missions they had been given. Even Phillip fucking Graves had reached out, asking to give Bell a possible work contract. 

 

Laswell was then contacted by another CIA officer regarding Bell. That officer was Russel Adler, one of Bell's former CIA colleagues.

 

Turns out Bell wasn't who they thought he was. And now they were on a witch hunt trying to find the gas again; not only that, but they now had a much larger problem. 

 

The green light nukes. 

 

---

 

“I don't need to explain anything to you, Woods.” Bell hisses his words laced with malice; Woods might have been a friend when Bell's brain was little more than a conditioned machine following orders blindly. 

 

“Damn right you don’t.” Woods growls sarcastically as he rolls closer to Bell's restrained form. “Listen, kid, the shit that Adler did to you was fucked up; hell, I didn't even know at the time. But that doesn't mean you can just blow the damn world to hell!” Wood's voice rose as he glowered down at Bell. 

 

Wood knew that he wasn't talking to the bell he had first met back in '81.

This wasn't Adler's prodigy; who used cartography to track down a Russian terrorist who wanted to see the world burn.

This wasn't the man who joked and laughed with Woods and Mason after a successful mission.

This wasn't the man who barely got any sleep trying to decode Russian transmissions; this wasn't the man that Woods knew.

This was an angry man, someone who would drag the world down with him in the name of revenge.

 

This wasn't a soldier;

 

this was a terrorist, a dangerous terrorist who just handed the largest current world threat the key to ending the world on a silver platter. 

 

Bell was gone, and all that was left was an angry man who would do anything in the name of revenge. 

 

“Everything that happened to you, kid... it was fucked up. But that doesn't mean you had to do this, just… tell us where the gas is.” Woods pleads, looking into Bell's distant, emotionless eyes as they flickered away from Woods's intense gaze. 

 

Bell clamped his mouth shut stubbornly; Woods knew that Bell wouldn’t say anything; he wouldn't betray his nephew, not again. 

 

Oods sighed, slumping back into the wheelchair, his hands falling back to hold the wheels, reversing the chair backward before spinning so that he and Bell are side by side, and Bell's mouth remains stubbornly shut.

 

“Listen, kid... if you don't talk, then Adler will make you.” Woods whispers before rolling out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Bell to the silence of the desolate grey room, his head falling back against the bed. 

 

A smile slowly starts to creep across his face as his eyes snap over to look directly into the lens of the security camera perched in the corner of the room, poised like a gargoyle watching over his every move. 

 

The large metal door of the room suddenly blows off its hinges with a loud bang, slamming against the floor with a slam. 

 

“What took you so long?” Bell asks, a grin spreading across his face as he looks at the figure standing in the open doorway. 

 

“Я скучал по тебе, дядя.” (I missed you, uncle.)

 

---

 

"Countdown"

November 21st, 2023 lhiuhiurfgfyugrygfyurgf

London escape of a traitor TF141. 

 

“Bomb disarmed!” 

 

The shout was barely heard over the loud sounds of gunfire pounding against Price's eardrums as he leveled his rifle at target after target, not bothering to watch their bodies hit the cold ground of the underground subway.

 

Bullets raining from all directions smashed against concrete, ballistic armor, and flesh. 

 

Captain Price heard as the last bullet was fired and the last body hit the floor. 

 

The 141 captain finally allowed himself to sigh in relief, letting his muscles relax as much as they could; Price had grown weary in these past few days; uncertainty had coursed through him when he watched whatever the hell it was that happened to Bell in that room. 

 

Back then Price wanted to throw up, but he couldn't.

This was more than a special ops mission; this was the fate of the world held in one conflicted man.

 

The thought of Bell made prices stomach churn unnaturally. Bell was a good soldier, a damn good soldier. 

 

And he was also a damn good traitor.

 

When Bell was revealed to be Makarov's uncle, Price didn't know how to feel.

This was a soldier he had embraced with open arms, taking the man into his team, treating him with the respect that every soldier is owed. 

 

And then the bastard goes on and gives the most dangerous terrorist in the world, who was also the soldier's fucking nephew, a dangerous gas that chokes the life out of everything it touches and the codes to several fucking nuclear weapons hidden around the globe. 

 

“Good work, Sargent.” Price says, slapping soap on his shoulder as the other slowly stands up from his hunched position below the now defused bomb. 

 

“Thanks, captain.” Sopa sighs, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his gloved hand, his bushy brown mohawk now tousled from the chaos.

 

“Bravo 6, to watcher , how copy?” Price says his hand clasped on his shoulder radio.

 

“Watcher to Bravo 6, send traffic.” Kate's voice buzzed through the radio. Price quickly looked over his shoulder at the array of bodies decorating the concrete floor, both ally and enemy. 

 

“Bomb disarmed, threats eliminated. Konni’s gone packing.” Price spoke into the radio; Kate's response was buzzing through quickly. 

“Good job, return to base for debrief.” Kate's hasty reply catches Price, the guard, had noticed that Kate had seemed a bit on edge, but now he was certain that something was wrong. 

Notes:

Sorry for not updating in a while school decided to be a bitch, so here a chapter! hope you all enjoy

have a good day/night

thank you all for the support

Chapter 19: Make the wall a bright red.

Summary:

141 talk to Kate and get some not so great news about their traitor.

 

November 21st, 2023 

4:37 PM

MI6 London base 

 

Kate Laswell was nervous.

She paced back and forth within the office that was given to her when she first arrived on this base; the base wasn't anything special in itself, just a closed-off MI6 base that she was welcomed into whilst the members of 141 dealt with the bomb Konni planted in London.

 

She was relieved when she heard that no one had been killed on that mission. Konni was a formidable force, and injuries and deaths were getting more and more common for other task forces and military groups sent to deal with the threat that Konni presented. 

 

But the unease that quelled within her gut did not dissipate when she had heard the news. “This was a distraction.” The gravelly voice of Russell Adler, her fellow CIA officer, spoke up, the words sending a chill down her spine, “How are you so sure?” she asks, sitting down and leaning back into her chair as she lifts her gaze up from her computer screen.

 

Adler walks briskly over to her desk, fishing his hand into his jacket pocket and pulling out a USB hard drive. The CIA special clandestine officer had joined the task force temporarily as their “handler.” The man had proven himself useful; after all, he was the one who had exposed Bell. -

 

“What is this? She asks, picking up the USB suspiciously, raising her eyebrow before plugging it into her computer, the file downloading automatically. Her eyes widened as she clicked on the downloaded file. 

 

A video began playing.

 

---

 

“Я скучал по тебе, дядя.” (I missed you, uncle.) Those simple words whispered from his nephew's mouth made Bell smile as armored soldiers filtered into the room, quickly rushing towards him, detaching his limbs from the table, breaking, and cutting the leather straps that kept him contained onto the gurney. 

 

Blood was still flowing freely from his punctured eyes, drying as soon as it dripped down his cheek and soaked into his white t-shirt. Sighing in gratitude, Bell let himself rise from the gurney, his hand coming up to tussle his sweat-soaked hair, the world blurred around him as he sat up.

 

A gloved hand wraps around his shoulder, steadying him. He looks up, seeing that Voldoya had rushed to his side and is now supporting him; he smiles softly, his voice cracking as he speaks.

 

“I'm fine.” He murmurs, finally getting his legs underneath him and pushing himself up to stand next to Vladimir. His nephew's eyes squint as they inspect him, his eyes darting over every bruise and every droplet of blood still falling from his wound. 

 

“You are not fine.” He says bluntly, his hand still resting on Bell's shoulder as the two start to walk towards the exit of the examination room.

 

His nephew had grown up so much; his voice was deeper, more commanding, and resolute. The realization brought a smile to Bell’s face.

 

This wasn't the helpless nephew he had protected from his mother's naivete or his father’s rages; this was a man who had grown up without him. This was a commander. So much like Bell when he was working for Perseus, before Arash put a bullet in him. 

 

Bell chuckles humorously as he tries not to limp alongside his nephew but fails miserably when he stumbles slightly. The world around him was a haze of mismatched colors and swirls; Voldoya noticed immediately, taking hold of Bell's arm and slinging it across his shoulder, guiding his uncle along the hall.

 

His nephew was speaking to him, but the words didn't reach Bell's ears, his heart thudding in his ears as he was led down the hallway. 

 

The bright light of the sun nearly blinded him as they exited the facility; suddenly hands grabbed him by the shoulders and arms, leading him towards the sound of beating helicopter blades. His breath caught in his throat as the world blurred around him once more; whatever poison that Adler had shoved into his body was still circulating within him, and the effects were far from starting to wear off. 

 

He felt himself being laid down onto a seat, his eyes darting wildly around the helicopter's interior, but he couldn't see; the world was a blur of color and movement around him, and he was a helpless audience to it. 

 

Voldoya was at his side once more, reaching out a hand that Bell eagerly grasped and held tightly to his chest as he lay looking up at his nephew.

 

Tears smudged in the corner of his eyes, their hot streams slipping down the sides of his face as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. 

 

“I'm so proud of you.”

 

Bell saw Voldoyas's eyes widen and mouth open in a shout that he couldn't hear as unconsciousness took him.

 

 

---

 

November 21st, 2023 

5:30 PM 

MI6 London base 

 

“You wanted to see us, Kate?” Price asked, hand folded behind his back, the rest of 141 languished behind him as Price stood in front of her desk. Kate sighed, nodding her head and signaling for them to sit down. 

 

Her hands were shaking slightly, a small detail that Price noticed immediately. He straightened up; whatever it was that had Kate on edge like this couldn't be good, and Price was willing to bet good money that it had something to do with Makarov. 

 

“Yes…” Laswell says slowly, her finger typing at her computer before she spins the device around to show the group what is displayed on the screen.

 

It was a video, a security camera surveillance video, of the interrogation room where Bell is supposed to be being held. 

 

Kate leaned forward, tapping her space bar, and the video began playing. 

 

It showed Bell lying on the gurney, his eye still bleeding from the needle; Bell's breathing could be heard through the speakers as he struggled against the restraints before finally letting his head fall against the gurney's headrest, his body going limp, as if he was giving up. But again, stranded again, the metal clamps let out a shout of frustration; the video speeds up, showing minutes passing and the bell not moving an inch, until.

 

The door of the containment room blasts to the side, swinging wildly, and into the room steps Makarov, dressed in full uniform; he mouths the Russian words, just being missed by the camera's speakers. Soldiers filling in after him immediately going to loosen Bell's restraints and letting the man rise from the gunnery. 

 

The duo exchanged words quickly in Russian before Makarov led the bell out of the room.

 

The video ends. 

 

“We believe the bomb that Makarov placed in London was a distraction.” Kate explains spinning the computer back around and raising her gaze to look up at the task force. 

“So the bastard could go and break his uncle out.” Soap hisses, arms crossed angrily across his chest as he paced; Ghost watched the sergeant's reaction from the back of the room.

 

Soap had sustained small injuries on the last mission, but no matter how minor the wounds were, it still seemed to worry the lieutenant.

 

Kate's gaze flicked to Price, who held a hand resting on his chin, deep in thought. “Do we know their next move?’ he asks, raising his head up to meet Lasswell's gaze, waiting for a response. Kate nods her head, typing at her computer once again.

 

“Intel suggests that Makarov took Bell back to his main base of operations in the Russian Alps. There's a small collection of villages in the area, but satellite imagery has shown that there appears to be an industrial military-like building hidden between the Alps.”

She explains, turning her computer around once again, pointing at the map displayed on the screen. The map shows the highlighted areas of the Russian Alps, and the possible Konni base was circled in bright red marker. 

 

Gaz’s head snaps up. ‘Wait, how do we know that this isn't a trap? Every other base we've seen has been hidden somehow. His bases always had a false identity to try and drive us away. False names, false businesses, but this? It doesn't make sense, and when could he have built it? This is starting to feel like a trap, Captain.” Gaz says, turning his head towards Price, who approves the sergeant's words like a sponge. 

 

“He's right, Kate, how can we be sure?" He asks, turning towards the CIA officer who hums in response, her gaze lowering back to her computer before she leans back in her chair. 

 

“We don't know, but that is the only intel we’ve managed to scrape up. It's either this or nothing." She says with her hands folding together, her fellow colleagues had the same suspicion about the sudden konni base.

It was as if someone was feeding intel to the CIA to perfectly conform to his plans and lead them astray, and at the moment it was working. They needed all the intel they could get, and even a teen prank call would be taken seriously at the moment.

 

Price looks behind his shoulder at his men before clearing his throat, drawing all attention back to him. “Well. It's better to go in expecting an ambush than not,” he says, receiving nods from all present. 

 

“I’ll forward you all the intel we have right now, but it's still under your discretion if you go on this mission, John.’ She says, watching as Price's eyes flicker from her to his soldiers, who all give him a nod. 

 

“Like you said, Kate. Something is better than nothing; we'll take it.”

-

---

 

Bell stood before a place he never thought he would see again; even after leaving home to fight for Perseus in their war against the world, Bell didn't expect to return alive, and once the CIA got their hands on him, he certainly didn't expect to be standing in front of a home he no longer remembered.

 

“It's the same,” he mused, looking to his right, where his nephew stood only a few centimeters away. Voldoya hummed, hands clasped behind his back, as he stared at the cool bricks that stretched around the base of the house and rose up higher and higher until the roof spiked outwards.

 

“Shall we go inside?” Bell asked, placing his hand on Volodya's shoulder, a small comfort, a small mercy for not being by his nephew's side for all those years. Bell had a lot to make up for. Bell was determined to make things right, both as the leader of Perseus and as Vladimir Makrov's uncle.

 

They would change the world for the better.

 

For Mother Russia. 

 

---

“Did you find him?” Adler asked, cigarette held tightly in his hand as he leaned back in the leather chair he oh so tediously had brought from Berlin to London, after all nostalgia was one of Adler's favorite emotions. 

 

Smoke swirled through the air, twisting and curling as he waited for a response. "Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the man in his office.

 

“He's in Russia.” Phillip spoke up, slapping down a thin folder onto the table before slipping down into the matching leather chair opposite Adler. “So, Pops, when are we going to bring him in?’ Phillip asks, fiddling with the pen in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. 

 

“As soon as we can, hopefully.” Adler responded slightly amused as he plucked the file up off the table, opening it to review its contents before his eyes squinted behind his glasses as he stared at the mediocre amount of intel his son had collected. Adler would have dosed Bell with MK-ultra back when he had him strapped down to the gurney; in fact, he had planned to if it wasn't for Makarov’s impeccable timing. 

 

Seeing his father's unimpressed look, Phillip sighs, “Listen, pops, Bell’s not exactly an easy man to find, you know? And my boys are pretty busy at the moment, you know, hunting down Bell's nephew." Adler sighed, pulling his glasses off and rubbing at the corners of his eyes. 

 

“The faster we can get him back, the faster we can get Makarov,” Adler hisses. The sooner Bell got back in his hands, the better. MK-Ultra has gotten a long way since 1981, and Adler would be lying if he said he wasn't excited to get his favorite soldier back as soon as they found him. 

 

“While we're on the topic, do you think, when you get back him back on those drugs of yours, could I borrow him for a bit? The boys took quite a liking to him the last time they met.” Phillip smiles sweetly like a kid in a candy store begging his parents for a lollipop.

 

Adler just raised an eyebrow before chuckling, “Of course, I don't see why not. But until then, we need to keep working.” Adler said, handing the folder back to Phillip, who took it hesitantly before smiling, nodding, standing up and exiting the office, closing the door behind him. 

 

Adler leaned back in his seat, pressing the cigarette against his lips as he took a puff; Bell would be his again, his weapon, his soldier.

 

All they needed to do was hit the right spots, and Bell would be back on the good side. 

Notes:

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! sorry for not updating in a while, thank you all for so much support!

please leave a comment and tell me what you think!

Chapter 20: Break out and ambush.

Summary:

Bell and Makarov have a chat, Stone waits in prison and soap stops a bomb.

 

The house was the same as it was all those years ago; it made Bell's heart ache just looking at it.

 

He could remember when he first came here for Anatoly’s housewarming party. It wasn't much of a party, really, just a night where Bell and his brother drank until they couldn’t keep their guts down. 

 

The next morning they found out Anatoly’s wife was pregnant, and now here Bell stood with that very same child. Except that child is a man now, a leader. Bell could feel the tears christening in his eyes once more, but he pushed them down.

His stomach twisted as he remembered throwing Anatoly out of the house and slamming the door shut when the other man tried to shove his own wife down the stairs to get rid of the ‘abomination’ growing in her.

 

After that, Bell got better; he stopped drinking, and Anatoly only got worse, not being able to bear a single minute with a sip of vodka. Bell loathed that about his brother. 

 

“Uncle.” Voldoya’s smooth voice brought Bell back to the present, stringing him away from the flow of long-forgotten memories buried under chemicals and false memories. 

 

Bell turned towards his nephew, a spark of a smile coming back over his face as he took a step towards Voldoya, the tears once again burning at his eyes, threatening to drop at any second. He sighed in through his nose, his throat taut and dry. 

 

He placed his hand on Volodya's shoulder, watching as his nephew's eyebrows drew together as he stared at Bell cautiously.

“I'm so proud of you; I won't ever be able to say it enough. But know that I am so, so proud of you.” Bell admitted the words were heavy on his tongue and ever heavier as he felt the air around them tense up as he waited for Volodya's response; he would take anything, a sigh, a hum, anything.

 

Anything to know that Volodya understood his words. What he did not expect was the hug. 

 

Voldoya embraced him, clinging to Bell as if there was no tomorrow, arms wrapped tightly around the other man's shoulder, his head buried in the crook of Bell's shoulder. Bell’s chest tightened, a sob catching in his throat.

 

Bell exhaled a breath he was holding; he could feel his limbs growing relaxed as Volodya continued to cling to him before eventually pulling back to look up at his uncle's eyes, watering just as much as his own. 

 

They were the last of their family. They would fight over and over again for each other's safety; Bell had proven that before Voldoya was born when he threw Anatoly out of the house time after time during his drunken spouts of rage towards his pregnant wife. 

 

Voldoya had proven this when he fought with every tooth and nail he had to get Bell back. They were a family again, and they would fight for each other. 

 

Voldoya cleared his throat, withdrawing from Bell, his face scolding back into the serious commander he had grown into.

“I’ve set a trap for Task Force 141. One of your followers, Naga.Told me that one of your other allies was being held in prison?” Voldoya says, walking towards the lounge and sitting down in one of the worn brown leather couches.

 

Bell followed suit, sitting down in a chair opposite his nephew. 

 

“Stones being held in an industrial prison in northern Britain. We can use this as a distraction to break him out.” Bell continued watching, and Voldoya nodded softly at his words. His eyes flicked onto his hands that were folded tightly in his lap. 

 

Leaning forward, Bell collects Voldoya’s hands in his watch as his nephew slowly raises his gaze.

Bell tightens his grip on Voldoya’s hands, softly taking in a breath. “Let's go,” he says, meeting Voldoya’s eyes, a smile quirking at his lips.

Voldoya nodded solemnly.

The two are standing up in sync with one another. Two soldiers fighting the same war, two members of the same family, and two terrorists helmeted on seeing those who hurt them burn. 

-

---

 

Stone leaned against the plain white wall of the familiar prison.

 

It had been years since he was caught, and he had begun to get used to the plain walls, the bland food, and the overall mediocre feeling that emanated from his prison cell. Stone sighed as he leapt down from the top bunk of his cell.

 

Surprisingly, he had a bunk bed in his cell, the only oddity to the picture-perfect normality of a prison.

 

It had been a few weeks since he had last seen Bell when he was taken to the interrogation room; Stone half expected it to be another useless attempt at getting him to give up his mercenary contacts and affiliations.

 

But much to his shock and surprise, it was an old ghost brought back to life asking about a 34-year-old job. Granted, Stone didn't remember much about his time working for Kuzmin and Perseus thanks to that fucked-up no-aging serum Naga cooked up somewhere between 1982 and 1990, but at least he still remembered how to neutralize that damn gas. 

 

Stone huffed, stretching his limbs until he heard the satisfying pop and crack of the joints in his body coming loose again, swinging his arms back and forth. Stone walked towards the small sink sticking out of the wall.

 

A plastic sink, the prison had to take extra precaution after Stone smashed his original porcelain sink and used the shards to stab several guards.

 

Stone twisted the plastic tap slowly, letting the water pool in the sink before cupping his hands and splashing his face with the water, slicking his dirty blonde hair back against his head and sighing as the cool liquid trickled down his face, plopping down onto the floor with a small clink.

 

The tranquility of the prison is shattered by the blaring alarm that rattles Stone's eardrums; he flinches, smashing his hands over his ears as the alarms continue to ring. “What the hell?!” He exclaims, turning his head towards the thick metal door; the sliding peephole compartment slid shut, not allowing him to look out at the hallway.

 

Suddenly, gunshots echo through the hallway, making Stone jolt back away from the door, his hand balled into fists defensively, sweat starting to bead on his forehead as his heart hammers in his chest, uneasiness circulating in his mind.

 

What the fuck is happening? Was it a prison riot? 

 

His mind swirled with possibilities, and the loud gunshots continued to wrack through the facility, his heart pounding in his chest, before the gunshots suddenly…stopped.

Silence reaches through the hallway, and the uneasy feeling in Stone's gut blossoms as the sliding hatch on his door suddenly skids to the side. 

 

Stone's jaw hits the floor as he coughs up a laugh, stunned. Deep green eyes stare at him. “Boss!?” he says disbelievingly, shaking his head, not believing what he was seeing, but lo and behold, it was Bell, or rather, Perseus. 

 

The door of his cell creaked open, and standing in front of the thick metal door, fully armed and encased in dark khaki, was Bell. Stone stepped forwards, his eyes scanning up and down Bell. His eyes stopped once he saw Bell's eye was covered by a thick layer of medical gauze, the fabric bulging outwards.

Bell noticed his line of sight and laughed half-heartedly. “It’s all right now. Let's get you out of this shithole, huh?” Bell says, reaching down to the hip and grabbing the pistol in his holster before throwing it at Stone, who caught it easily, twirling the weapon in his hands.

“Come on,” Bell said with a jolt of his head, turning on his heel and exiting the cell, Stone following close behind. 

 

“We’re back in business. Baby!” Stone shouts triumphantly, and Bell chuckles softly. 

 

He missed stone. 

 

-

---

 

“Divide and conquer. Find Makarov; that is, capture or kill.” Captain Price's gruff command was met with several nods from the soldiers sitting down around him, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz among them.

They were crammed into a dropship along with several hand-selected marines that General Shepard had chosen himself.

They did not trust the general, but they couldn't be picky, not when their enemies outnumbered them ten to one.

 

The doors of the drop ship creak open, the wind gusting into the interior, wracking all the soldiers with chills.

One by one the marines stood up and jumped out of the aircraft, the wind whipping at their faces as they extended their limbs and tugged down on their parachutes, guiding themselves down on top of the industrial concrete base. The base stood out like a sore thumb against the snowy surroundings of the mountainous valley. 

 

Soap's boots thud against the metal roofing as he raises his rifle defensively, his eyes scanning the area, but nothing shows itself.

The metal door of the descending staircase into the facility is ripped open, and the soldiers slowly descend down the stairs.

Soap's gut twisted with unease; it was a familiar feeling, like the calm before the storm, but this time it felt all too similar to the feeling he had before Bell pressed a gun against his head with the intent to shoot. 

 

Soap shook his head; he couldn't think about that point right now. Not when he was trying to take down that man's nephew.

Bell wasn't a friend anymore; he was an enemy, a terrorist, not a soldier. Soap wouldn't admit it out loud, but he had admired Bell.

He admired the way he persevered through difficult fights and proved himself to be a true asset to the task force. Before he betrayed them and planned to end the whole entire fucking world. Soaps is also pretty sure he trained the snake to bite him. 

 

“Contact!” one of the marines shouted, a flurry of gunshots following the shout, and then the sound of a body smacking against the floor followed.

 

“Shit,” Soap cursed under his breath as he pressed himself against the wall before poking his gun around the corner before poking his head around. On the floor, blood pooling around their bodies, were two Konni soldiers, the red patch with the intricate snake logo a dead giveaway.

 

Soap huffed before moving onwards, keeping his rifle raised and ready. 

 

Siap bites down on his lip, the same coiling, uneasy griping his stomach intensely, sweat caking down his spine and soaking through his shirt, the uncomfortable feeling making him shiver from the cold. 

 

He sighed, his breath floating in the freezing air. Soap shook himself, throttling his unwanted thoughts to the back of his mind as he continued to slip through the facility, turning corners in the uneasy building as he continued to burst into empty rooms and walk through barren corridors. 

 

Soap reached up to his radio, clicking one of the buttons. “This is Bravo Six. Did anyone find anything?” Soap says his finger fell for the button as he waited for a response, the silence stretching on longer than it should.

 

Soap suddenly became very aware of the shadows that swallowed most of the room. The only light illuminating the small space was the artificial illuminance from a small rectangular light fixture. 

 

He pressed the button again. “Bravo Six to all stations, does anyone copy?” Soap says, uncaring for the nervousness that claws into his voice like a traitorous virus. Again, Soap was met with silence. Soap swallows took in a breath before turning around and walking back along the hallway. 

 

Soap walked cautiously along the hallways, peeking around the corner, gun raised.

The feeling of unease and fear gripped him more fiercely as the silent minutes ticked on. Soap. He hated the quiet; he hated the way it made his thoughts more clear, and he hated how it was so peacefully unsettling.

Soap could almost feel his eardrums searching for any sound to distract his mind apart from his boots thudding against the floor repeatedly. 

 

And suddenly Soap hears it. The familiar beeping, the constant, repetitive beeping.

 

Emanating from the corner of one of the many identical rooms, soap had just swept through. Soap paused; there was only one thing in this world that made that sound. “Shit.” Soap cursed.

 

One terrifying, dangerous object that Soap had studied endlessly on how to disarm. Slowly soap trod towards the sound, each of his steps measured and cautious. His heart did not dare to beat. As he turned into a spacious area that would have been a mess hall in another life, he saw it. 

 

The mess of wires poking out in all directions, the matted metal case, and the meticulous ticking red screen.

 

Soap's hands shook, but his mind, honed by years of experience, was sharp as ever. He kept in action, his eyes tracing every differently colored wire, his hands reaching for the wire clippers tucked into his tac vest pocket. His hands shook as he reached for a particular red wire.

Soap's eyes flicker over to the timer; he had less than a minute. He looked back at the wires holding the cutters tightly as he placed them on the wire, their blades poised to cut. 

 

He looked back at the timer, his heart pounding on beat with the ticking bomb. “Take it easy…” Soap murmured, his eyes locked onto the timer. 

 

Six seconds…

 

Five…

 

Four…

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

Soap snapped the wire cutters down, the blades cleaving through the wire like a hot knife through butter. The world around the sergeant held its breath; a second passed. Then another. 

 

Soap didn't hear the explosion, he didn't feel the blast slam him back into the furthest wall of the room, and he didn't hear the shouts of his name, but he could feel, and by God did he feel. 

 

He could feel his skin splintering, cut by shrapnel; he could feel a warm hand press against those wounds, one soft, gloved hand cupping his cheek. He could feel his heart stuttering in his chest. 

 

He could feel his throat burning as he tried to breathe; he needed to breathe. 

 

John Soap MacTavish felt his body go limp.

Notes:

Sorry for such the long wait! hope you all enjoy this chapter!

hope you all have a great day/night drink some water and eat some food!

Chapter 21: Warning signs

Summary:

Soap wakes up in the hospital.

Bell raids the verdansk gulag

someone is watching.

Soap could hear the hospital before he saw it. He could hear the faint beeping of a heart monitor. He would feel the thin fabric gown brushing against his skin roughly. He could feel the plastic tube shoved down his throat. He could feel the needles piercing into him.

But most of all, he could feel the pain.

The hot, tingling pain that soared through the right half of his body. He could feel the bandages pressed against his wounds. A gasp croaked out of his throat as he opened his eyes, blinking fiercely as he was blinded by the sterile white lights.

Nausea suddenly wracks through his body; he can feel the bile tang against his throat. He coughs, the dryness of his mouth not helping in his predicament. He tries to sit up only to feel a soft, warm hand press down on his shoulder softly. 

 

“Lay back down, Johnny; you’re lucky to be alive.” Soap knew that voice, the baritone British accent, and usually calm and collected tone. He knew that voice even when his ears rang with the sound of his own voice. “Ghost?” The raw rasp of his voice sent him into another coughing fit as he blinked against the harsh lighting of the hospital room. 

 

“I'm here, Johnny." Ghost's response was short, the lieutenant's voice unexpectedly cracking in the middle. Soap sighed, letting himself relax, his arm slowly raising up despite his battered muscles protesting at his every move. He reached out, and the same warm hand resting on his shoulder slipped up and gently grasped his hand. 

 

“S’blood bright in ‘ere,” Soap slurred tiredly, drawing a small, dry chuckle from Ghost, who somehow made the lights dim even by a little. Sopa sighed, feeling himself sag deeper into the hospital bed, his voice cracking with every word that left his lips.

“I’m fucked, aren’t I, LT?” Soap asked. His question hung in the air. They both knew what Soap was really asking.

The sergeant was the more determined member of the pair; he did not hesitate to rush forward and disarm Makarov’s bomb or any other bomb that was thrust his way because of his dangerous career.

Ghost knew that Johnny was asking if he would ever be able to see the adrenaline-fueled battlefield again, but more importantly, Ghost knew that Soap was really asking if he would ever get the chance to put a bullet in Makarov’s skull like he should have on the helo all those months ago, before Bell, and before everything went to shit. 

 

“No, Johnny, you aren't. You got lucky; the captain's going to put you on medical leave for a few months until you're able to regain your strength. You're too valuable to lose now, especially during this fight.“ Soap fought a snarky smile quaking at the sides of his lips.

He knew that what Ghost was saying was true: Price discharged him, and he would be on medical leave, held up in his tiny flat with nothing but dusty books and video games to keep him company.

But then again, he also knew what Ghost really meant hidden in his words and twisted meanings. He knew he was too important to the lieutenant, and if anyone would be blasting Makarov’s brains on a wall, it would be the both of them, side by side, smoking gun in hand. 

 

The sound of the hospital room door slipping open made Soap still ghost quickly slipping his hand from out of Soap’s weak grasp, much to his personal displeasure. “How are you doing, sunshine?” The rough, gravelly sound of Captain Price broke the momentary silence, and Soap smiled hearing Price’s footsteps.

His vision was still maybe blurry, but it was clearing up gradually. It was enough to see Ghost’s silhouette sitting at his bedside and see Price’s approaching figure slide up beside the lieutenant.

“As right as rain, cap.” Soap coughed, reaching absently for a glass of water he had caught a glimpse of. The cold glass was gently placed in his hand by Ghost, who also placed a supporting arm on Soap's back as he slowly slid upright.

 

He sipped the cool water, feeling it soothe his throat as he drank. Price sits down next to Ghost, glancing at the lieutenant briefly before turning back to Soap with the perfect mix of concern and pity that made Soap pause a minute.

Soap didn't know who dragged him out of the rubble of the building; he didn't know who had dragged him to the helicopter in a blind panic; he didn't remember, but deep down he had a feeling that it was Price. The door slid open again, and this time Gaz stepped through, looking worse for wear, deep dark circles under his eyes.

He paused when he saw Soap sitting upright, the room silent. A second passes, and Gaz’s shoulders sag, a look of pure relief on his face as he steps towards Soap’s bedside, each step slow as if Soap would suddenly collapse back into unconscious sleep.

 

“Good to see you, Tav,” Gaz said softly, his voice quaking, and he dragged another chair to sit next to Price, the captain’s worried gaze falling on Gaz, his hand reaching up to pat Gaz’s shoulder in a small touch of comfort for the sergeant.

 

Soap blinked, his eyes flicking between the three soldiers sitting at his bedside, his allies, his commanding officers, and, most importantly, his friends. 

 

A small, sad smile crossed Soap's face. 

 

“Give them hell for me, would you?” 

 

Even if he was missing from the action and confined to his stuffy flat.

In no way, shape, or form was he going to let his fellow soldiers falter in their fight against Makarov and Bell… Especially not Simon; Soap knew better than anyone that the ghost needed to have his head in the game. 

 

For his own sake and for what little sanity Soap had left.

 

-

---

 

Bell leaned back in the helicopter seat, his body strapped into his seat.

Bell didn't remember dying; he didn't remember how he felt when his life blinked out under the pressure of the Perseus agents that had found them back then. Bell still remembers how Perseus had looked at him, the cold disappointment, the hatred that he held for traitors.

In that moment, Bell had gotten what he truly deserved, what any traitor to the cause deserved: death. 

 

Except he didn't die. He lived; he felt the moss and grass crawl over his body in Mother Nature's failed attempt at consuming his body that should have decayed along with his memory. 

 

But it didn't; he lived. He survived, and now he wasn't alone.

When he had first joined Perseus’s cause, he did it to ensure a better life for his nephew and her mother. Bell’s brother could rot in hell for all he could care and for all that his nephew had told him. His brother was rightfully burning in hell. The thought of Perseus made Bell tense; Perseus had been like a father to him in every way of the word.

Naga had spoken to Bell in Laos about Perseus's fate; the cause itself had dispersed the mercenaries, taking their fill of the weather, and the others fleeing the west. But Perseus himself, the heart of the cause.

Had died of cancer in 83’ according to Naga. Bell didn't know how to feel.

Perseus had told Bell once that he would one day take up the mantle of ‘Perseus’ to hold the torch that would burn the world and be the light guiding their motherland to a better future. 

 

But now as he sat in a helicopter surrounded by soldiers that Volodya had rallied to his own cause, Bell couldn't help but think that perhaps the title should skip a generation. 

 

He survived because he wasn't done; he survived because no matter what flag, what leader, or what person held Bell's strings, his loyalty would always be with his family. And with Voldoya. 

 

“Touchdown in five.” The voice of the pilot crackled through Bell's headset.

They were circling over Verdansk. Bell leans back into the seat of the helicopter. When Adler shot him on Solovetsky all those years ago and Perseus had left him to rot, he remembered the cold touch of the grass and the damp taste of the air that blew away the lingering smell of gunpowder.

Bell remembered it because he knew that every second he spent with Voldoya, every inch of land that they conquered, and every rebellious life they snuffed out was done in spite of the people who wished to see him dead and rotting.

He did this not for his own gain or satisfaction but to prove to himself that no matter how much he failed before, now he would rise and finish what Perseus had started. Even if the old man’s legacy was shattered and torn. 

 

The helo jolted as it hit the sleek ground of the Verdansk helo pad.

Bell stood, the high collar of his uniform scratching tightly at his throat. He nodded at his fellow Konni soldiers that had also risen out of their seats, each of them standing at the ready for Bell's command.

They had all been briefed on the situation by Volodya, for which Bell was grateful. He nodded to the Konni captain, who stood to the side of him. The captain was a big, hulking man called Dimitri.

When they had first been introduced, Bell couldn't help but like Dimitri Belikov, the Soviet defector that Adler had smuggled out of the KGB headquarters all those years ago. Times were different now, and Bell wouldn't father; after all, he had a job to do. 

He jumped down from the helo, his boots hitting the wet concrete with a thud.

It had been raining before they arrived, turning the air damp and cold, the temperature seeping into Bell's skin. Bell stepped forward away from the helicopter, the blade still spinning atop the aircraft. Bell stepped forward, seeing a small group of prison guards cautiously approaching the Konni team, clearly unaware of who they are. They had landed on the Verdansk Gulag.

This was expected; after all, the most secure information was always stored in the most unlikely places. 

 

“Who sent you?’ One of the leading prison guards spoke up, jerking his head at Bell, a rifle held loosely and carelessly in his hands as his eyes glowered down at Bell and the other Konni soldiers following close behind Bell.

“Shut up,” Bell hissed lazily, his eyes rolling. Without a second thought, Bell raised his rifle at the ready, his finger pressing down on the trigger, releasing a barrage of bullets at the unsuspecting group of guards whose bodies then collapsed to the floor in bloodied heaps.

Looking over his shoulder, Bell spoke to Konni soldiers: “The warden’s office is on the second floor. Find the office, and we find the codes.”

His words held the same sharp direction that he had spoken with so many years ago when he was leading Perseus recruits through training. Some of the Konni soldiers stood straighter at his words before quickly nodding and made their way towards the stairwell entrance that stood out against the roof of the gulag.

 

The group made their way down the stairwell, guns drawn and held at the ready.

Bell could feel his trigger finger twitching. Whenever a guard stuck their head into the stairwell, they were quickly and quietly turned into a red smear painting the walls of the gulag. Eventually the team made their way down to the second floor of the gulag, their hearts all collectively pounding in their ears.

Somehow, despite their silenced rifles and precision against the teams best efforts, somehow the gulag alarms started blaring, alerting the entire facility to their presence, the noise grating against their eardrums. 

 

“Ready breach!” One of the Konni soldiers yelled out, placing a small door breach bomb onto the door's metal surface before the door blew off its hinges, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Bell entered first, his rifle raised and ready, only to find the warden's office empty of any personnel.

His fellow soldiers followed in behind him, searching through drawers and shelves for any additional information or supplies they could use. Bell rushed towards the desk, his gloved hands skimming across the keyboard, his fingers diving into his pockets and fishing out a small USB, which he quickly slotted into the computer.

The screen flickered, zeros and ones flashing across the screen before the security overloaded and unlocked, and Bell sifted through the computer files.

Technology may have changed over the last 40 years, but Bell was the best cartographer in Perseus for a reason, and he would've been damned years ago if he couldn't adapt or learn. He's just lucky that the adaptive programming that the CIA had jammed into his brain isn't starting to fade.

Bell hoped it never would. It was strange that the CIA itself had fitted him with several talents that were beneficial to him in the long run. He suspected that that was one of the reasons why Adler had shot him. He only had speculations, no truth, no fact, only speculation as to why he now bears a tearing scar across his cheek. 

 

The computer flashes and flickers as the information coded into it slowly starts to drain out of it and into the USB. Bell's eyes flickered up to the screen; a loading bar had popped up on one screen. 

 

Loading....23%

 

Loading....46%

 

Loading... 74%

 

Loading... 84%

 

Loading...99%

 

Loading...100%

 

Bell's finger tightened around the USB as he pulled it out from the computer, quickly placing it in a secure pocket at the front of his tac vest.

He turned on his heel, patting the pocket down, feeling the ridges on the USB press against his fingertips. The other Konni soldiers had stopped raiding the office; now they were standing around looking at Bell patiently.

“Let’s move out; we’ve got what we came here for.” Bell said bluntly, taking a step towards the doorway. The Konni soldiers followed him out as the group made their way back up to the helo pad. 

 

Bell felt uneasy as he walked down the halls. That was too easy, far too easy.

They snuck into Verdansk, raided a gulag of all places, and got out with the trigger codes of the whole sleeper agent network. That felt planned. It felt like a trap.

Bell had fallen into too many of them to not know what one looks like. “Stay sharp,” he muttered to the Konni soldiers following close behind him as they climbed up the spiraling stairwell. The door to the stairwell opened smoothly, leading them out to the large expanse of the rooftop. 

 

Nothing was there. Nothing except the wind. Bell felt his grip tighten on his rifle subconsciously.

Something was wrong, but whatever it was. Bell had no way of telling. “Let's get out of here.” Bell said quickly, making his way to the parked helicopter, settling down in his seat, and buckling himself back in, feeling the tight straps dig into his skin. 

 

The blades of the helicopter began to spin and beat. Bell risked a glance out of the helicopter window, seeing the gulag slowly get smaller as the helicopter rose into the air. As they flew further and further away from the structure, Bell's unease seemed to rise as the unsettling feeling seeped into his gut. Something was wrong. He just didn't know what. 

 

-

---

 

In a dim office in an undisclosed building, a man smiled down at one of the many TV screens mounted on the walls as he watched a small group of darkly dressed soldiers slip into the warden's office of the Verdansk Gulag. 

 

The door to the office creaked, and the man turned to the entrance. “Adler. You look like shit,” a gruff male voice said as a wheelchair rolled into the room, and seated in the chair was none other than Frank Woods.

“Woods,” Adler greeted, “I thought you were still in that retirement home.” Woods scoffed, rolling his eyes as he spun the wheels of his wheelchair to inch closer to Adler, who remained standing, watching the imagery on the TV screens. Woods paused, a heavy sigh leaving him. “So, the kid’s really still alive.” Woods muttered, sagging back in his chair slightly. 

 

“He won’t be working for Makarov for much longer,” Adler said bluntly, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and pressing one between his lips before offering one to Woods, who took it gratefully.

“What? You gonna stuff him full of drugs again?’ Woods asked mockingly; he hadn't known what Adler and Park had done to Bell...hell, he didn't find out until after Mason died. He couldn’t hate Adler for what he did; Woods knew better than anyone that Adler did it to save the world.

But Woods would be damned if he said that he agreed with the fuckery they did to Bell; he saw how it affected Mason, and he couldn’t imagine how it had affected Bell. Mason had ideals and memories implanted into him, a second personality. But not a whole rewrite of his brain and who he was. 

 

The silence that clouded the office was enough to make Woods pause, looking at Adler with a raised eyebrow. He almost wanted to curse at Adler to demand the demented asshole to explain himself. He knew that Adler had also been brainwashed.

After that whole debacle with the Perseus remnants, Adler had always seemed...off.

Woods had noticed it in how methodically and emotionlessly Adler had acted during the hunt for Pantheon, but this was something else entirely. It's as if the mention of Bell flipped a switch in Adler.

 

Adler slowly lifted his lighter to the end of the cigarette pressed between his lips. 

 

“Whatever it takes.” He murmured almost under his breath, but Woods heard it clear as day as he rolled forwards again, pulling the lighter from Adler’s hand as soon as he knew the other man’s cigarette was lit, and lit his own. 

 

“Don’t get yourself killed chasing him.”

 

“I won’t.” 

 

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait! I hope you all enjoyed this new addition!

I hope you all have a good day/night!

Chapter 22: Recovery and welcome.

Summary:

Gaz goes on a mission.

Bell and Stone are on a Plane

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get in, get out. But missions like this never ended well. Gaz knew that all too well. It seemed every science he joined, 141 things had been going downhill.

It's not that he doesn't like being a part of the task force. He loves it, being able to make a true change to the world and fight back. He just missed the tranquility of not getting shot at almost every damn mission. 

 

Another large spurt of turret fire made Gaz slam his back against the concrete wall. “Fucking hell,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

They were supposed to be on an intelligence recovery mission.

The debrief was simple: get in, recover whatever highly classified bullshit Makarov stole, and get out. They didn't expect a damn turret to be in their way. 

 

“Bravo 2-6 to all stations, we’re pinned down at the entrance by turret fire!” Gaz yelled into his radio, hoping that the com system could pick up his voice over the blast of turret fire.

“Bravo 2-6, this is Bravo 0-7 taking the shot at the turret now; take cover.” Ghost's voice echoed through the radio in Gaz's ear. He barely had a second to jump back and away from the wall until a large ear-piercing bang echoed throughout the building courtyard. 

 

“Target down, turret disarmed. You and your team are good to go, Sergeant.” "Ghost," he said simply into the radio while Gaz panted, leaning against the concrete wall, his ears ringing from the bang before he shook himself and quickly spoke into the radio.

“Thanks, ghost. Entering the building now. Cover me,” Gaz said before jumping out from behind the cover of the cement wall and racing across the courtyard. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could spot the body of the soldier that was controlling the turret; their body was splayed out onto the floor a solid few meters away from the now disabled turret, their head a red splatter against the ground. 

 

“Fucking hell.” Gaz hissed again as he rounded the corner to the entrance of the large building. It used to be a school in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Russia, until it was abandoned after the Cold War. The Konni group had turned it into one of their intel-gathering sites with the security and firepower to match. 

 

Gaz has a team of marines following his lead into the building as they venture down the corridors, clearing every room they come across.

Something in the back of Gaz’s mind was screaming at him when half of the rooms they entered were empty except for some old furniture that was covered in white sheets underneath the pile of thick dust that made his nose tingle. 

 

“Ready breach!” Gaz called out as one of the marines clamped a piece of C4 onto the closed metal door to the last room in the entire building.

t was the boiler room; this was Sita. It had to be it. The information that they were sent here to find had to be on the other side of that door. If it wasn't, then Makarov had successfully sent them on another wild goose chase. 

 

The explosion of the C4 knocked the large metal door off its hinges in a large blast that made Gax’s ears ring.

It was a miracle that he had managed to retain his hearing up until this point.

Gaz swept into the room, his rifle raised and ready, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other in search of any movement. Behind him the marines filtered into the room one by one as they began their search. The room looked less like a boiler room and more like an office with stacks of paper and a computer sitting right in the middle of the desk. 

 

Gaz moved towards the computer after the marines had concluded that there was no one in the room. Gaz’s fingers darted along the keyboards, his eyes squinting nervously at the screen as it illuminated. 

 

He scanned the computer’s home screen.

Whoever owned this computer made a bad decision to leave it signed in. The same uneasy feeling began to pound in the back of Gaz's mind as he found one open file on the computer. A single file. 

 

“Bravo 2-6 to Watcher. I think I've found it.” Gaz said the uneasy feeling was still clawing at the back of his mind. He shook himself, waiting to hear the familiar crackle of the radio in his ear.

 

“Good job, Gaz. You should be at a computer; there's a file that you need to extract. Use the USB in your pocket.” Lasswell's voice was calm but stern; Gaz found himself nodding as he slipped a gloved hand into one of the frontal pockets of his tac vest, pulling out a small, sleek USB.

Before this mission they had been visited by some top-notch CIA officers who had given them USBs to extract whatever classified information Makarov and Bell stole from the CIA. 

 

Gaz felt his jaw clench at the thought of Bell, but he brushed past it. He needed to focus. Inserting the USB into the computer, Gaz began browsing, watching as the computer flickered and changed as he searched through its files.

File after file, overriding password after password. Makarov was thorough. That much was proven from his attacks and strategies. 

 

Finally, after some long seconds that seemed to draw out forever, Gaz finally found the file. He let out a sigh, “Fucking finally.”

He hissed under his breath as he waited for the USB to extract the file from the computer. Only nothing happened; Gaz blinked. The file wasn't being downloaded into the USB; no, the file was opening itself.

 

The screen flickers, flashing black and white as it glitches. 

 

A noise suddenly sparked through the room; it sounded like…speakers? Gaz’s head spun upwards, his eyes scanning the room for a threat, his heart pounding in his chest as a long, high-pitched screech echoed through the room.

A realization dawned on Gaz. The room had speakers. The idea was strange; it made Gaz pause. Why the fuck would there be hidden speakers in an office?

 

He didn't have time to answer that question before the speakers started emanating a voice, saying..Numbers? Gaz froze where he stood, blinking absently.

The voice was saying numbers, random combinations of numbers. “What the fuck?” he whispered, turning to the small group of marines that stood near the doorway, hoping to see their equally confused faces.

Two of the marines were glancing at each other confused. “What the hell is going on?” one of them mutters, stepping forwards, looking up at one of the corners of the room’s roof, and spotting a small compact speaker dangling from the corner.

The third marine stood still, silently, deadly still, his eyes staring off into a distance that Gaz couldn’t see. The second marine turned to his battle buddy. “Yo, Varnes, you alright?” The marine asked.

 

Varnes stood deathly still. 

 

The radio in Gaz's ear crackled. “Get out of there, sergeant!” Laswell yelled, her voice shrill and panicked.

Before Gaz could reach up to his radio to ask Laswell what was going on, Varnes had spun off the marine next to his rifle and raised a finger on the trigger. Before Gaz could shout at the marine, Varnes had already blasted off a burst of bullets that splintered through the marine, who slumped against the wall, dead. 

 

Gaz leapt back to his rifle, raising it at Varnes. He shouted at the man to stop, but Varnes didn't listen; he jerked forwards, rushing towards the other marines who stood in shock.

Gaz lifted his rifle, his finger squeezing the trigger, and he shot. 

 

The bullet hit true, smacking into the side of Varnes's skull, immediately stopping the soldier dead in his tracks.

Varnes crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from the hole in the side of his head. 

 

Gaz and the last remaining marine stood in suffocating silence. 

 

“What the fuck…” the marine breathed, panting, looking at the two bodies in disbelief.

 

Gaz couldn’t help but agree. What the actual fuck. 

 

-

---

 

Bell leaned back in the plane seat, a sigh heavy on his lips.

When he had gotten the message that his nephew had sent him a private jet to take him, a recently escaped Stone, to Laos, he almost fainted.

Voldoya had mentioned to him that he had a financier that took care of all of Konni’s finances and used the extra for other expenses, but he never imagined that his nephew would have a damn private jet. 

 

Stone sat next to him; the man had long been asleep since they rose up from the ground a few hours ago. Safe to say that Stone was exhausted, and Bell couldn’t blame him.

He had been unconscious for forty years; Stone had to live out most of those years stuck in a cell. Bell didn't know how Stone had damaged it; from what little he remembered about the mercenary, Stone was the kind of person to not be able to sit still for more than two minutes.

It was a miracle that he didn't claw his eyes out from boredom. Stone was one of the best snipers and soldiers that Bell knows. 

 

“Still surprised you're still up and kicking.” Stone yawned next to Bell, stretching his arms up and over his head. Bell chuckled.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, and I thought you said you wanted to sleep?” Bell asked not to look away from the window and the great expanse of the ocean underneath him. 

 

Stone snorted. "I've had, like, 30 years to sleep. Also, it's not every day you get to fly in a private jet.” Bell let himself laugh a little.

It felt good talking to Stone again; it felt freeing, really. He had spent so little time with Kitsune and Naga when he had the chance, he can barely believe that he's going to see them again.

From what Bell can remember and from what Naga and the others have told him, before Bell was…taken. Nobody could get the members of their group away from each other; they were all peas in the same pod: Naga, Kitsune, Wraith, Jackal, Stone, and him.

Kuzmin was a later addition to the team, but Bell still remembered taking the scared scientist under his metaphorical wing. 

 

After Bell had disappeared, Perseus had made Kuzmin the leader of the team; they were a band of mismatched misfits that were all smushed together.

Perseus gave Bell that team because it was mostly full of mercenaries and contracted soldiers; as Perseus' right-hand man and best cartographer, it was his duty to keep the variables in check, even if that meant becoming the leader of those said variables. 

 

“Landing in thirty minutes.” The calm voice of the pilot came over the announcement system of the plane. Bell sagged back into his chair, thirty minutes until he could see his team together for the first time in what felt like forever. 

 

Stone turned to him, a smirk on the British man's face.

“Heya, boss, do you think, once we reunite with the team that. Uhh, we could have a little reunion at that bar Naga has on base?”

Bell almost burst out laughing right then and there; no matter how many years have passed, Stone would always be the same old Stone. Outgoing, sarcastic, and most of all, a raging party man.

 

The plane jolted as it hit the ground. Bell could feel the plane rumble beneath him as it screeched to a stop. Stone stood up, shuffling out of his seat, and Bell followed suit, placing a hand on Stone's shoulder, a soft smile gracing his features.

“Come on, the other missed you,” Bell said, patting Stone’s shoulder once before they headed towards the exit.

 

Stone made a show of gasping and placing a hand on his chest in mock hurt.

“You didn't miss me, boss?” Bell would never give Stone the satisfaction of knowing that he had missed him; he had missed all of them.

They were a team, his team. Perseus may have commanded him to lead the group to keep any unnecessary damages from happening, but Bell had found friendships that were extremely rare in his line of work.

And now, forty years later, they would all be together again. 

 

The Laos sun beat down onto Bell as he exited the plane, the lush smell of the forest wafting into his nose as he and Stone walked side by side.

 

Standing a few feet away from the landing area were four familiar figures: Naga wearing his usual green mask, hands raised above his head as he cheers, and Kitsune leaning against a humvee parked right next to the group.

Wraith gave the duo a welcoming nod before she dug her hand in her pockets.

Jackal was clearly smiling as his eyes squinted in glee behind his mask.

 

Bell could see stone shoulders sag out of the corner of his eye.

 

Bell once placed a hand on Stone's shoulder. 

 

“Welcome back.”

 

Notes:

Hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!

hope you all have a good day/night!

Chapter 23: Ding, dong, the witch is dead!

Summary:

Stone reunites with his friends and Vladimir calls bell back to Russia for a conversation at a restaurant.

“Welcome back.”

Even though Stone would deny it every day for the rest of his life, Bell would swear on his soul he saw a tear fall from Stone's eye. 

 

To say that Stone was bombarded after they landed in Laos was an understatement.

He was absolutely hounded, and in between the screams of joy and the random fistfight that happened, the group had somehow ended up at Naga’s bar. The smell of smoke colliding in the air; the smell made bells and tingled. The stench of marijuana filled the room as Naga pushed another blunt happily into Stone's hands. Stone didn't just get his callsign because he's strong in a fight. 

 

Bell sipped whatever alcohol was in his glass; the taste wasn't anything special, but Bell didn't care. He had missed this, the sound of laughter bubbling over the hiss of the radio.

They had spent many nights together drinking and buzzing, having a few laughs in whatever bar was open. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he spots Jackal trying and failing to lift Wraith over his head as the woman flails, kicking and yelling, threatening to smash a beer bottle against his helmeted head. Stone slid into the empty seat next to Bell, almost falling out of the chair.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he stank of weed and alcohol. They had been in the bar for a few hours, and Stone looked like he had gotten pleasantly shitfaced. “Enjoying yourself?” Bell asked, chuckling.

Stone giggled playfully, almost falling off the chair again. This time Bell grabs Stone by the cuff of his shirt, pulling him back up onto the stool. “You betcha.” I feel great,” Stone slurs, falling into another giggle fit. 

 

A buzz from his pocket makes Bell pause for a second, his gaze flickering down to his pocket.

He slips his hand into it, palming the cold phone as he plucks it out, flipping it over in his hand. The screen illuminated as his finger brushed the surface, a text message bold and filling the lock screen. 

 

‘I have a flight booked for you; I need you to come back to Russia.’

 

The text was from Volodya. Bell cleared his throat, patting Stone on his back as he stood up from the stool, drawing out a drunken laugh from the Brit.

Bell directed a nod towards Wraith, the only other sober person within the whole bar, a silent understanding crossing between them; Bell needed to go. He had a flight to catch, and he trusted Wraith to look after the others and explain. 

 

-

---

 

When Bell had set foot back on Russian soil, he had expected Volodya to tell him that a plan had failed or one of their operatives had been kidnapped. He hadn't expected Volodya to invite him to dinner to talk. It was a lavish restaurant. They sat in a private room and silently wondered if Volodya had connections with the owners.

Considering that they had walked in and were immediately seated. It wasn't every day that two wanted men walked into a restaurant. Let alone eat at one. Bel looked at the man sitting across from him. He couldn't help but smile, a feeling of twisted pride filling him. Vladimir Makarov, his nephew, had grown into a man, a strategic, calculating, and precise man.

 

A twist of shame and guilt claws its way through Bell. Voldoya had grown, bled, and fought, and Bell hadn't been there; he didn't get to see his nephew grow into the man who now sits across from him.

The phantom sting of his eye makes Bell press his eyes tightly shut. “Are you alright?” Voldoya asks, his voice brimming with concern as he waits with bated breath for Bell's response. Another twist of emotion rushes through Bell. The utter concern emanating from Volodya was a light that made Bell's whole being warm.

 

 “I am fine, just…” Bell pauses midway through his words, a hand subconsciously reaching up towards his eye, as if to wipe away blood dripping down from his eyes, but Bell stops his hand and sharply brings it back down to rest on his lap.

He hated this; the phantom pains, the ghostly memories, and the weakness of it all clung to him like smoke, thick and heavy. He couldn’t be weak, not now.

Not when his nephew sat across from him. He needed to be strong. For Volodya and for himself.

He needed to be strong, to push down the incessant whispers that thrashed within his mind and the loud voice that thundered over them all. Adler's voice.

Since seeing Adler again in that prison, Bell had been waking up screaming. Perhaps that's what this was about.

Bell wasn't blind to the pitying looks that the konni soldiers gave him during morning mission briefs and when he walked through the halls of whatever base he had slept at that night. But he had ignored them. 

 

“Uncle.” Volodya whispers worry clear as day in his voice. Bell watched as he brought a hand up to rub at his eyes, the other resting against the table in a clenched fist.

Bell paused just now, noticing the dark rings circling underneath Vladimir's eyes. Had Vodolya been losing sleep? Bell wondered, his own worry building up in his chest; he lifted his hands up from his lap and placed them softly on top of the hand that Volodya had placed on the table. “I am fine, nephew; do not worry about me.” Bell said, watching Vladimir's face draw into a worried, angry frown.

It was clear that he did not believe his uncle's words.

A memory flashed in Bell’s mind. When Voldoya was a child, Bell had taken him to the park during one of Voldoya’s parents’ screaming matches.

He remembered Volodya looking up at him with those big dual-colored eyes and promising that when Bell grew old he was going to look after him, no matter what. Bell blinked the memory away and wondered silently if in that very moment as they sat across from each other in the private booth of the restaurant, Volodya was also remembering that day and the promise he had spoken with such valor. Bell squeezed Voldoya’s hand comfortingly.

Had he truly grown so old now that Volodya was going to start taking care of him like he had promised? Bell internally shook his head at the idea.

No, Bell knew within the core of his being that no matter what he and Volodya promised, Bell would always look out for his nephew, even now when the world is stacked against them and their goal seems impossible. He couldn’t be weak, but that didn't mean that Volodya wouldn’t continue to push him to be vulnerable. 

 

“Please, Uncle, tell me what they did to you.” A suffocating pause fills the air; the pause was broken when Vladimir cleared his throat, conjuring up the courage to speak once more.

“Uncle, please. Tell me. So I may pay it back tenfold." The harsh bit in Vodloya's tone made Bell pause, sighing out through his nose.

This wasn't the young boy who needed to be sheltered from his mother's and father's arguments. The irony wasn't lost on Bell as another memory flashed through his mind. A young Voldoya had come home from school bruised and blistered; Bell had knelt down beside him and whispered, “Tell me what they did to you.” Now decades later the tables have turned, and now it is Volodya uttering the question with a burning rage in his eyes. ‘Tell me what they did to you.’ Bell swallowed a lump in his throat.

‘They’ Bell knew there was no ‘they’ for what had happened to him. Yes, others had been complicit in his torture and…reprogramming. But there had only been one man who had orchestrated it all.

It had been only an open man that had dragged him out of that car on the tarmac where Bell should have first died.

One man who led him to that cliffside where Bell should have died for the second time 40 years ago. One man that made bells' hearts beat in ways that were unnatural.

One man who, well, would give anything to kill… Russell Adler. 

 

He could feel Vladimir's gaze on him; he couldn't cry. Not here, not now, but his throat grew tighter and his eyewear watered.

The crushing pain in his chest wasn't just suffocating; it was an all-consuming weight that pressed down on every bit of him. A tear slipped down his cheek, and then another and another. No, not now; he couldn’t cry, not in front of Vladimir. He needed to be strong. 

 

Warm, comforting arms wrapped around him; Bell froze, blinking away tears as he looked at the absent seat across from him before turning to the figure that embraced him.

Somewhere between the tears clouding his eyes and now, Vladimir had stood up from his seat and rushed to Bell’s side, wrapping his arms around Bell in a crushing embrace.

Bell felt his eyes water once more as the dam holding back his wave of emotion cracked. But it was when Vladimir pulled him further into the hug and whispered, “It’s alright, uncle. You don’t have to protect me anymore.”

The dam broke, shattered, and in fact, the shards flowed with the emotion that throttled out of him. A sob caught in his throat, but Vladimir only tightened his grip, and the sob fell past Bell’s lips. Wave after wave of emotion flew out of him; he felt his knees weaken and his shoulders sag, and the world around him faded out to a numbing fuzz. He could only feel the warm, tight hug. 

 

Bell couldn’t feel the tears stream down from his face, he couldn’t feel his body tremble and shudder as a pained sob fled from his lungs, he could only feel the sting of his eyes, the tightness of his throat, and the comfort that oozed out of his embrace with his nephew.

He would have laughed at the situation were he not paralyzed by emotion; here he was, the former right hand of Perseus clinging to his nephew like a lost soul, and perhaps he was, lost in his own mind and the horrors inflicted upon him by people he called former allies. 

 

His cries and shudders subsided enough for him to pull back and wipe at his now red-rimmed eyes; they stung.

He wanted nothing more than to pluck them out so he didn't have to look Vladimir in the eyes. He may not have been able to crawl his way out of that car in Turkey, and he couldn’t have stopped the CIA from taking him, but he had still abandoned Vladimir in that hellscape of a household without a true guardian. It was a sour realization that made Bell look up into Vladimir's eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn't there.” He didn't need to continue for Vladimir to understand what he meant.

The tightness in his chest subsided as he blinked, his eyes drying out and his breathing slowly growing calmer.

Until the world around him was no longer an impenetrable fuzz of stillness. 

 

The steadying breath Bell takes makes his lungs burn as he slowly sits up and away from Vladimir, who returns to sit across the table.

A silence fell over them, broken only by shaky breaths as he fiddled with his hands. He looked up at Vladimir,pausing as he saw his nephew reach a hand up and wipe at his eyes that were rimmed red. Had Vodlovay been crying as well? In the haze of his pain Bell hadn't noticed; a burning guilt flushed his cheeks. “I'm fine, uncle.”

The words left on Vladimir's lips made Bell pause, his face drawing into that familiar saddened disappointment that he had used so many times when Vladimir was young.

“Don’t lie to me. It's clear you're not." Bell spoke as if he wasn't just clinging onto his nephew for dear life just seconds ago. A small laugh left Vladimir, and Bell felt his shoulders relax slightly. 

 

The absurdity of it all was enough to make his mind reel. The pain in his eye had faded to a dull throb, but it was still there, and Vladimir, his dear nephew Vladimir, sat across from him laughing at the fact that Bell dared to call him a liar.

It was just so obscured; here he sat with his nephew when Bell knew that he should be rotting in the ground.

The guilt of leaving Vladimir alone with his parents rose again, but this time a thought entered Bell's mind.

What happened to his brother and Vladimir's mother? His mouth suddenly felt dry, but as they both once again settled into an awkward silence, Bell did open his mouth and dare to ask. 

 

“What happened after I left? Your parents, they…" Bell stopped speaking as soon as he saw Vladimir's face fall, pale and gaunt.

Bell watched as Vladimir seemed to stumble over his words before clearing his throat, and even more awkward silence dawned over the both of them as Vladimir seemed to collect his thoughts.

Bell suddenly became very aware that this probably wasn't the best place to be asking his nephew questions or the best place for him to practically break down.

They were at a restaurant for fuck's sake; no matter how private the room was, they were still at a restaurant.

Bell did not think that after that conversation he would be able to stomach any food, no matter how high-end or expensive. 

 

Vladimir stumbled over his words once before clearing his throat and speaking, shakily at first before a mask of cold indifference locked down onto him.

“After you left, my mother divorced Father and fled the country. Father became…worse.” Vladimir paused his fallen gaze, flicking up at Bells, and Bell felt her heart hammer round her chest.

The few times she had been able to shelter or intervene in the fights that happened between Vladimir's father and mother were… Troubling, to say the least.

Bell knew his brother was a heavy drinker when he was married; he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like after Vladimir's mother left. But Bell noticed something: Vladimir seemed to deflate every time he mentioned his father; his shoulders sagged and there was no trace of lingering fear in his eyes. Of course, Vladimir had grown from the small child Bell had protected, but in a way he looked...gleeful remembering his father.

It gave the bell pause; it was clear that Vladimir despised his father, but the emotion that rang through his voice made no sense. 

 

“He was drinking every day, taking out his anger on me whenever he wished. And one day when I came home. I found him.” Bell's heart stopped suddenly in his chest, eyes widening and mouth suddenly dry.

A small smile crept into the corners of Vladimir's mouth, a flash of bitterness crossing his face as he spoke once more, holding Bell's gaze. 

 

“He killed himself.” The blunt mocking in Vladimir's voice made Bell pause.

Before a burst of laughter bubbled out of him. He watched Vladimir join in. and soon the private room of the restaurant was filled with laughter. 

 

And for the first time since returning to Vladimir. Bell saw his nephew smile. 

Notes:

This took so damn long to write OMGGGGG

anyway i hope you all enjoyed this new chapter!

I hope you all have a good day/night!