Reports

by b4tmans

[ revamped, set in MW2 ] She had spent time with the cartels in Mexico; she was accustomed to the violence that plagued men in a time of war. Perhaps that's why she was dropped in the middle of Afghanistan with a bullet proof vest, a press pass and a cameraman. CNN trusted Karen Zobrist to get the story, but 141 barely trusted her at all. MacTavish/OC

A/N: Hi guys! Long time, no write! This right here is a revamp of my previous story under the same title, which by now is probably deleted. Hopefully this goes a little smoother and more like I want. Many, many, many thanks to TheCriticalPanda for the extremely helpful pointers!

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Prologue

Beginning of the End

Karen Zobrist choked on her coffee, her manicured hands gripping the porcelain a bit tighter as she coughed to clear her throat.

She laughed softly, playing the request off as some kind of joke; but, when Karen was not joined by her boss, her crimson lips fell apart, white teeth appearing in a surprised manner.

"But, Fr-"

The blonde was shushed by the stout man in the fine pressed suit. His thinning hair was flattened against his skull in a out-of-date manner that made the young reporter cringe. His suit was almost as outdated as him, faded plaid laying among the grayed hues, like a desaturated disco jumper. The CNN Headquarters had outfitted him with a rather generously spacious office, fit with expensive pens and a Newton's cradle.

Her eyes remained transfixed on the never-ending domino effect caused by the metallic orbs.

"Enough, Karen," Frank Gogwell continued, "With San Pedro off the story, we need someone else."

"Frank, San Pedro lost his leg," her voice shattered an octave as she tore her eyes from the desktop toy, "I have no experience-"

"Bullshit, Zobrist," Frank's fist met the mahogany of his desk, rattling his container of pretty pens. The man cleared his throat loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. His mustache twitched beneath his nose, irritation radiating out of every sweaty pore the Head Correspondent possessed, "You were in Michoacán. You had god damn drug dealers shooting at you."

"Frank, you're- It's a war zone!"

"And all that shit with the cartels wasn't?"

Karen snapped her mouth shut, hands clasping together tightly over her skirt.

There is no getting yourself out of this.

"You leave for Afghanistan in three days. Congratulations on the promotion, Zobrist."

Narrowing light hues, Karen simply stood, smoothing her pencil skirt out before steadying herself on her fire-engine red pumps. Stalking towards the exit, she uttered a simple: "Have a nice day, Mr. Gogwell" before slamming the door so hard the glass rattled in its panes.