Disclaimer: If I owned the rights, Black Ops wouldn't have had such a terribly written story.
AN: Set in the first Black Ops game.
"You're very well prepared for a dead man," Weaver told Doctor Clarke as he examined the variety of weapons on the yellowing wall.
"Just because I accept the inevitability of my fate does not mean I'm in any hurry to embrace it!" Doctor Clarke snapped back between breaths.
"You're very prepared," Mason said with some amusement. "You've even got weapons that don't exist."
"Of course they exist, you imbecile!" Doctor Clarke snapped and Mason sighed.
"This is nineteen sixty-eight right? February the ninth, nineteen sixty-eight, correct?" Mason asked, looking at the doctor as the rain outside seemed to intensify.
"What does that have to do with anything Mason?" Weaver asked with a hint of annoyance and Mason rolled his eyes and pointed to the SPAS-12 semi-automatic shotgun on the wall.
"Well this shotgun doesn't enter production until nineteen seventy-nine," he said in a matter of fact voice. "And I doubt you would be able to get your hands on any prototypes in the middle of Kowloon City in Hong Kong, even if they existed."
"Is that all? Of all the thi-"
Then there's this Heckler and Koch G-11 assault rifle," Mason continued as though Doctor Clarke hadn't spoken. "The initial studies into it's creation started in nineteen sixty-seven, but I'm pretty sure the first complete prototype didn't exist until nineteen seventy-one and it wasn't ready for production until the nineteen nineties, where it was abandoned owing to the costs of the German reunification."
"We have hundreds of Spetsnaz just waiting for us. This really isn't the ti-" Weaver began, but Mason ignored him and instead switched his attention to one of the submachine guns on the wall.
"This Kiparis submachine gun isn't even going to be designed until the early nineteen seventies and when it is finally accepted into service, it's used by Russian Internal security and their Military police," he said in exasperation, then he turned his attention to another submachine gun. "This Spectre isn't even going to be designed until the MID EIGHTIES!"
"I do wish these damn game designers would bother to pay attention," Doctor Clarke said in a slightly exasperated tone. "I think this is the part where I yell out 'CUT!' and let the game designers redo this segment."
"Nah, they'll just cut off this segment from just before Mason starts talking," Weaver said with a smirk. He looked hard at Mason. "Please remember to not say anything this time. I know you're the protagonist, but still."
"So what happens to this bit?" Mason asked curiously and Doctor Clarke sighed.
"It'll probably end up in limbo until some fanfiction writer writes it out again. Oh joy," he said and somewhere in the world, the story floated until it came to rest in the muse of a fanfiction writer named Yellow 14.
AN: Call of Duty, Black Ops is the game that put me off the rest of the series. Probably because it was so badly written. Still, after recently replaying the level Numbers, this came to me.
