Summary:

Logan Walker, a man in chains under Rorke's imprisonment, is slowly changing, becoming more hostile, losing precious memories, and only handle his own company. But something sticks, and using this knowledge he somehow manages to escape. Now on the run, Logan has to figure out if he's with the Ghost's or the Federation, before it's chosen for him.

/ / / / /

Chapter 1:

Logan Walker sat with his head against the rock wall of his prison, eyes closed as he tried to channel the pain coming out of his stomach; something he had come to know very well for the last few months: poison. It made him so sick that he had to vomit every ten minutes, but that wasn't all.

He could feel it doing something to him, shaping him into something he didn't want to think about.

He coughed up some more of the venom, too weak to get up and do it anywhere except for the place he was sitting next to. He groaned, trying to remember the last time he had felt so….sick and….helpless.

Sick; no, this was the worst. Helpless….he could remember something he refused to forget. His father's murder. He would never forget that, how that bastard made him shoot him twice before he killed him right in front of him…. of them.

Hesh… He couldn't forget how he was taken away from his brother on the beach that day, either. But this memory….it wasn't as secure as the murder. Yes, it was something he thought about every day. Yes, it was the thing he cried about some nights when he felt so loney. But every time he woke up, he felt like some minor detail was missing; like how he swore half of his big brother's face was covered in face paint, and how he swore there were three explosions; not two. Whatever the case, he knew the poison was doing its work: twisting his memories into something else, trying to get his mind set on something else.

And he was not going to let that happen.

He had decided that point to what seemed like so long ago, and had done something about it; something people might classify as crazy.

He'd used the blood from his cuts, bruises and bullet wounds and written words on the cave walls. They all said different things, like his name, his true team, and that he wouldn't break.

At least the last would stay true.

He'd put the writing in a remote spot so the people that came in here wouldn't see them, but so far, he'd had to rewritten it twice.

And really, he wasn't sure if he had the strength to do it another time if it presented itself.

Logan thought of his team: Ghost's. His farther had said a Ghost never breaks, but Rorke is living proof that that isn't entirely true, which didn't ease the uneasiness and doubt deep in his mind, pushed deeper back than people would think humanely possible.

He coughed again, the cough turning into a fit before he chucked up what you would call 'food' yet again, some of the stuff getting onto his ripped military pants. The 'food' that they gave him was barely anything: just four stale biscuits that he knew had the poison his farther had told him about. He tried not to eat them – hell, he did, he survived what he thought to be five days before he ate the disgusting things – and when he did – god, did he regret it. The effects were almost immediate, only taking a few minutes before the effects came into effect. The effects: terrible, terrible headaches, vomiting, stomach aches, and memory loss – at least, he thought so. Whatever the case, it was defiantly doing some damage.

He groaned, feeling pain from a previous beating enter his system through the venerable cracks, taking any chance to get in and do some damage. The beatings were becoming worse, using tranquilisers, guns, and slow – so damn slow – knife techniques that would leave any man screaming his lungs out. He was no exception. Though he screamed, he tried to keep it in him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't – really, it depended on the location and technique used to get it out of him. He'd had the knife getting into his stomach when he refused to answer questions, a bullet in his leg or arm when he refused to listen, and a tranquiliser when they were done or wanted to hear him scream. If they were really mean, after having a bullet in his body, they would use the knife technique in there, which hurt like a bitch. Only once had he got a bullet in the stomach with the knife used in there, but he would always have the worst wounds patched up and the smaller – sometimes dangerous and/or still bleeding – wounds for him to take care of. Lately they were inflicting worse and making him patch them up – meaning using his shirt and pants as the bandages – which only made this hell hole worse.

He swore the maniac's that tortured him loved harming him, but he wasn't sure if they were the ones screaming in delight, or if it was just his imagination. Whatever the case, it wasn't his problem and never would be….at least he hoped not.

Logan looked up instead of down, trying to see the stars from the trees that blocked his gaze.

Stars, they always seem to calm me down, make me feel like I'm not alone. I know I've always liked my own company, but since the war, I've always wanted Hesh by my side, and now that he's not here, it just feels….odd. I don't know, it's like the stars remind me of him. And even if I'm beyond hell, losing some memories, and slowly, so damn slowly, sinking below the depth to get up, I won't lose hope. I won't ever forget you Hesh….David….

Logan closed his eyes, suddenly feeling dizzy and tired before falling into a deep sleep.

I won't ever forget you, no matter what.

/ / / / /

Logan Walker

/ / / / /

~Time passed: Unknown~

Time: Err….Midday….ish?

Location: Unknown – nothing I can do about that, the fuckers.

Age: 20….something?

Family: Err….Someone….God, I know there's someone…. Hesh! That's right!

Name: Logan….Logan….shit, that's gone too. It started with a W, I swear….

Weapons: Nothing except for my hands…not great odds against men with guns, knives and tranquilisers.

Mental State: Where did that come from? Err…. Not great? How the fuck am I supposed to know?

Great job, now you're questioning yourself. This is your body after all, you're supposed to know! Logan groaned as his mind yelled at him for being stupid yet again.

Can you shut the fuck up for once? He yelled back, and for once the second voice shut down, along with the orders to do the check-up.

What was I doing? It took him a moment to catch back on to what he was doing. Oh yeah, checking what I know. Is it good, what I know? Defiantly not. Poison's doing its work. He sighed, leaning up against the wall, trying to ignore the biscuits in front of him.

He still had no idea how long he had been here for. Weeks? Months? Years? Time was blending together, and through the days were getting worse, he forced himself to keep up with it. His captors didn't bandage his wounds anymore, leaving him to try to stay alive in the pit. He wasn't sure what he was fighting for, but whenever he thought about giving up, a memory – no, a voice – told him to keep going, that he needed to see him one more time. He wasn't sure whose voice it was, but it was so familiar…

Whenever he felt like he was going to break under the pressure, a voice came to him.

"We're Ghosts. Ghosts don't break." He recognised the voice, but couldn't put a face to it, like all of the other memories he was facing. And Ghosts? That word….it felt like it had so much more meaning than just the term….

Ah! How could I forget! I am a Ghost! What….This drug is slowly taking everything away….well, that's a lie, he thought. Everything except one thing: a memory so deep and emotional he just refused to forget any detail.

His father's death.

The tortures, the poison, it wasn't doing anything to the detail, the truth of the matter so far drilled into him that it just wouldn't go away or let some drug effect it.

He replayed the scene in his head, how four men were in the room, including his captor. How after shooting him to get answers out of his farther, he tried to risk his life to save him. How he'd only made the matter worse, the man overpowering him and making him shoot his farther twice before chucking him to the floor, his farther in tow. How his farther told him he was proud of him and Hesh. How Hesh was screaming at their captor not to kill their farther as he told Elias that he wasn't a Ghost, only the one that kills them. And then how the gun Rorke held went off, spraying his blood all over him and every other object in a five metre radius.

It hurt to go over, but every time he did, it reminded him of Hesh and how his farther told him he was proud of what he had achieved; what he had become. It made him proud, but soon….oh, soon he knew he wouldn't recognise the man that was tied to the seat next to his farther, and it only scared him.

Logan closed his eyes in pain, feeling his stomach growl and injuries protest in their dull ache. Ignore it; you're getting good at that. And it wasn't a lie. He was able to get into his own bubble when handling pain, when he was so deep in his thoughts that even his torturers couldn't get him to snap out of it until they were moving. But of course, they knew how to get him out of it. The tranquiliser had another use to them: to pop his bubble and inflict pain that could get to him anywhere.

He stopped thinking about it, but wasn't allowed to stay in his thoughts long before the door to the right opened, making his mask come on – a blank face, full of none of the emotions or pain he was going through.

One of the two torturers – yes, they took turns – walked around the corner and stared at him for a moment – machine gun in hand. The white man with short brown hair and wore the usual Federation uniform smiled a creepy smile, one that made him certain he was a little crazy – like something had taken him over the edge, which he was sure something had.

"Hello, Logan. Back for another round of 'tell the secrets', eh? You're not quite done yet, and you're not getting out of the pain as easily as last time." The manic walked towards him, not caring that he stepped on the poisoned food, and grabbed him by the shoulder, Logan knowing he wouldn't be able to get away from the dangerous torturer in his state.

The man got him to his feet before slamming him against the wall he had been leaning against a moment before, wincing as he put restraints firmly on his still-healing injuries. Knowing the bastard, he probably meant it! Logan thought, but made no attempt to get away as a hand was placed firmly on the nerve at the back of his neck and the AK-12 getting pushed into his head.

"As always, don't struggle or I might accidently pull the trigger like last time, little Logan. Maybe I'll go for the knee cap this time, eh?" The man pushed him forward, sending him stumbling a bit before he regained his footing and walked out of the pit.

It was true. He had struggled last time, but he quickly learned not to, as he had gotten a bullet in the leg. The wound had been secured in his army pants, which were slowly becoming shorter and shorter. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but whenever he let down his walls it hurt like a bitch.

He looked around like he always did, his instincts always to see if there was anything new in this hell. Nothing new, only the silver walls and the occasional door, which was almost never.

They made a stop at a door marked: 'No. 22', something Logan didn't think he needed to know, but made himself memorise anyway.

Someone opened it from the inside and the two entered the all-too-familiar metal room that had chains falling from the ceiling in the middle of the room, a chair at the far left corner and a camera to his right, showing everything that went on in the room, which only consisted of his torture, sometimes for information he wasn't sure he had, and sometimes to make him break. As to what it was today, he wasn't sure. Normally when it was an interrogation, he sat in the chair and got electrocuted more than stabbed or shot together. When they tried to break him, he was held by the chains and beaten, normally with their fists, but sometimes with their knives and the occasional bullet. One of his ribs protested form an earlier beating to break him, and even though it hurt, he wasn't going to let it get to him.

The guard that opened the door left the room in a hurry and shut the door, Logan knowing some of the guards from the Federation were scared of the man he was with, which didn't make him feel any better.

His captor led him over to the chair, taking off his restraints before tying him to the chair's arms and legs.

Interrogation. Great, now I'm going to be coughing up blood later today. That's just great. He thought sarcastically, letting his thoughts go dark for a moment, before falling back into his bubble.

Nothing would get to him today.

His interrogator started pacing in front of him, carrying the short yet sharp blade of a knife.

"Your full name?"

Normally, the first part was easy. He said his name, age, and if he had family. Normally, it was easy. But today, it was going to cost him dearly.

"Logan W." He managed to get out, lack of water making his voice crack.

His interrogator stopped pacing and walked toward him. "Full name." He repeated, starting to smirk.

As to why, he didn't know.

Shit, why do I have to do this! He cursed, before thinking desperately. Logan W…..W…..Fucking hell, I can't do this.

He growled before spilling. "Logan W. That's all I know."

The man's reaction wasn't great for Logan, the man smirking before leaning forward, mouth next to his ear.

"That's your first time failing the first question. Looks like you don't have much time left, little Logan." The man's voice creeped him out a little, but he didn't have time to dwell on it before the knife was stabbed into his leg.

Logan gritted his teeth, the danger coming a bit sudden for his liking.

"Age."

Damn, he thought, trying to stop from crying out as his captor put a firm hand on the grip of the knife, blood flowing out of the wound.

He waited, thinking some more. I know I'm 20-something, so I can't really do anything about it. Just guess, that's all you can do.

"26." He grunted, wincing as he dug the knife deeper into the wound.

His captor frowned before putting his creepy smile back on.

"Correct, but I know you guessed."

Shit, here it comes. He thought, before the man twisted the knife in the wound, making him squeeze his eyes shut and bit the inside of the mouth so hard it bled. Keep it out, keep it out, keep it out. Focus the pain on something else, focus on something else.

His torturer must have seen his face, because he laughed a crooked, crazy laugh. "Looks like you can't get into that bubble today, little Logan. That's why you're going to suffer." He twisted it some more, making Logan cry out. "Ah, there it is, the long lost cries of little Logan. I've been missing those."

He kept going until it had been the whole way around, the wound chucking out blood. "He-he, that's something you're going to have to deal with later."

The next question came in a flash.

"Any family?" The man started to take the knife out, making any thoughts he was trying to make disappear.

"Yeah," He mumbled, trying to block out the pain. "Brother and dead farther." He gasped as his interrogator ripped out the knife before wiping the blade, placing it back on his belt and grabbing the tranquiliser.

"Their names?"

Shit, he thought, I'm screwed.

He only knew his brother's code name, not his real name. He knew his dad's real name, but not their last names. Just go with it, he might pass it by.

"Hesh and Elias." The tranquiliser was on his ribs in a flash, the electricity and a never-ending pain going through his body.

"His real name." The man growled, obviously knowing his brothers real name.

Shit, he thought, trying to get the electricity out of his system. Just tell the truth.

"Don't know." He mumbled, locking the man with a glare that would make a normal person wet their pants.

But this man wasn't normal.

The man hit him with the tranquiliser again, making him squeeze his eyes shut. Think of dad, think of dad. It worked, his hate blocked out the pain going through him at what had been agonising speeds.

"Ah, looks like you've got the wall up again. Now to break it." The man hit him with another burst of electricity, but Logan only stared at the ground, immersed in his hate towards Rorke for killing his farther and all of the other shit the fucker had put him and his family through.

"Hmm….The barrier's grounded. Should I break it? Should I destroy it? It's your decision, little Logan." The man circled him, Logan falling out of his thoughts to glare at him again. "Good, looks like you made the right decision." For once, he didn't hit him with anything, and right after that thought crossed his mind the next question popped up.

"What team are you on?" The man pulled out his knife again, making him wince. This was going to hurt like a bitch.

"Ghosts. Federation are a bunch of-" Logan grunted as the knife started to slice his arm. "Motherfuckers." He managed to finish, wincing when the cut went deeper as he finished, obviously hitting a mark for his torturer.

"You're going to regret finishing that, little Logan." And soon he was getting cuts of various sizes everywhere, including in the one on his leg, which made him cry out. "He-he, looks like I can use that, hey, little Logan?"

That nickname was starting to piss him off, but he didn't say anything about it. As he was tortured with more and more questions being asked, some he knew, others he had no memory of, he started to think of how he would get out of this.

The Ghosts are looking for me, but with all of the time that's passed, have they given up? I mean, Hesh wouldn't stop until he found me but….no, stay strong, you need to keep up and take as many hits as you can; you're going to need it.

Suddenly the door opened, and in came the one man he knew he would hate for the rest of his life.

Rorke.

The man must have noticed his glare, for he walked in and grinned at him.

"You've been down here quite long, Logan. Do you count the days?" He asked him, actually looking for an answer.

Logan's anger and rage was trying to break the wall that he was trying to hold, trying to contain himself from bursting out. No, you motherfucker. Time is kind of slow. How about you? Not getting any poison in your food, memories getting lost? No? Well that's what I'm going through, you dick.

Taking his silence as an answer, Rorke continued. "I guess not. But I'll tell you how long: seven months. Seven months of torture, food poisoning, and memory loss. You are doing well, really well. Did you know I lasted a little longer than you have? Well, if I'm strong and could only last fifteen months, then how strong will you be when you've finished the process and are longer than me? Let me tell you – too damn strong to fall into your team's hands." The man paced, Logan not missing the glint of something shiny in his hand. "Like I told you before you fell out of your plane, there's always room for one more, and I'm willing to take you under my wing. No, I'm going to do that. So just give up, I'm going to have you one way or another."

Logan felt his anger rise, but he kept it down, trying to keep his face blank.

"So, will you choose the easy way, or the hard way?" He paused, looking intently at him. "Of course, I already know your answer."

The next thing he knew, a needle was sticking out of his arm, a yellow liquid getting squeezed into his blood.

Logan felt everything freeze, his mind, his resistance, his body – everything except for his mouth.

And the wall that just toppled over.

"I'm going to KILL you, you son of a bitch! You took my farther away from me, and me away from my brother, all because of some urge to kill the Ghosts that made you the monster you are! You're everything I hate, and I will never work beside the likes of you!" He yelled, almost screaming his rage into his captor's face.

Rorke frowned, staring at his face as he took in deep breaths to calm himself down, staring to feel slightly drowsy.

"Your bubble just popped then, Logan. That's a crack I inflicted and is slowly starting to spread. It's only a matter of time before I break you, and when I do, you'll be begging me to help you kill the Ghosts." The man leaned in close, before whispering into his ear, "It's only a matter of time."

Before Logan could process what was happening, then man was gone, out of the door before he could blink.

That was when he realised it wasn't the man's speed, it was the drug making everything seem slower than they really were. Logan felt his breathing shallow and muscles tighten as his torturer leaned in close, grinning like a manic.

"Well, it looks like this sessions up, little Logan. Be sure to dream of me." The man's voice echoed in his mind, making him grit his teeth in pain as it got louder and louder.

Slowly, darkness filled his vision, and as he entered the dream world, he didn't find it strange how he was dreaming about his hell, but how he was actually dreaming about the man that had been in front of him seconds before.