A/N: This is Post-Black Ops. If you haven't played the campaign, or wish to save yourself from spoilers, stop reading NOW.


November 22, 1963

Dallas, Texas

12:24 p.m.

His hands shook as he clutched the revolver in his hand. Hundreds of people swarmed around him, showing their admiration for their president and his wife. He looked on bitterly at the celebration. It would be short lived. Castro was still alive, and he was still hearing the numbers. Hudson and Weaver were wrong; it wasn't over. The numbers station was still active. He could almost hear his friend coercing him against his objective.

"The fuck are you doing, Mason? You're better than that. Fight it!"

Frank Woods. His best friend and brother-in-arms killed by some psychopath Soviet who refused to release the trigger. He retreated out of the crowd, following an alleyway to the park overlooking the motorcade route. Mason re-holstered the sidearm, reaching for the PSG1 that he'd hidden hours before. Why was he here? Every moment that passed seemed to make his surroundings more vague, more...foreign.

"You should've been my finest agent! It would have all been so much simpler!"

Nikita Dragovich. The sadistic bastard that had brainwashed him into something else. His death still lingered in Mason's memory like he was still alive. Looking back he couldn't remember anything, not even the memories that Hudson had forced him to recall mere days ago. Vorkuta...Reznov...Vietnam. It all felt like decades. Just thinking about it made his gut clench, like someone had struck a direct blow to it. The unfortunate meeting with the Russian had done things to his mind that couldn't be reversed. Dragovich had made sure he would never be the sane Marine captain that he was long ago.

"No one fights alone, Mason. Brave comrades of Vorkuta, the time has come to rise against our oppressors! Today we show the hearts of true Russians! We have all given our blood for the motherland. We have answered her calls without question. We gave our youth, our hearts, our very souls for her protection ... as brothers, we fought side by side against the German fascists. We crawled trough dirt and blood and sand to achieve our glorious victory ... Not for medals, or glory, but for what was right. We fought for revenge ... And when Berlin fell, how did our leaders repay us? We returned not to rapturous welcome ... but to suspicion and persecution."

Viktor Reznov. The one man Mason had trusted during his incarceration unconditionally. He gave him his freedom, but only to satisfy his vengeance. Kravchenko. Steiner. Dragovich. They all had to die. He could still hear the last words from him as he escaped the numbers station hidden below the Rusalka.

"Well done, Mason! You did what I could not. Thank you."

A loud shot rang in his ears and another sharp blow to his stomach made him cringe. As he stood from his position and looked to the scattering crowd, Alex Mason wondered if he would ever be human again.


A/N: For those who didn't catch the very end plot twist at the end of Black Ops, it is heavily implied that Mason assassinated Kennedy. He was labeled rogue along with Weaver and Hudson for purging intel.