Molly-Chan is back with another story :D this one is a little different. It involves getting in to the minds of our favourite 'Call of Duty' lot from the 'Black Ops' map 'Kino Der Toten'. We'll find something we didn't expect out of some of these characters. This will be rated M for later chapters.
Just an unfortunate fact, I don't own Call of Duty Black Ops, nor do I own Kino Der Toten *sniffle* I wish I did then I wouldn't be home writing fanfictions.
Anyway enough of Molly's rambling, here you go here's my fanfiction.
"Everyone, I think it's time we dealt with some demons." Tank Dempsey suggested as he picked up some pieces of paper that was laying around on the cold floor of Kino Der Toten. He then pulled a pen out from what he had around his waist.
Richtofen just sighed knowing exactly what he had to deal with. Takeo and Nikolai just looked at each other and shrugged. They had nothing really to deal with from back home. Edward on the other hand had a lot more on his plate then people knew.
"Dempshey vhy did you even zink of zis? it's a shtupid idea! You are a shtupid American and I hate you more zen you vill ever understand ja?" Richtofen crossed his arm and acted rather childish. He really didn't want to do this for some reason that he'd never say.
"I thought it was a good idea, they could be letters to our loved ones or it could just be our thoughts and feelings about what we've been though. Hell, we've been through shit loads together. I think it's about time you got somewhere close to feeling something!" Dempsey yelled shoving some paper under Richtofen's nose.
What had just been said defiantly struck a nerve of Edward's. Tank knew nothing about the Germans past, none of them knew. Maybe if any of them knew they'd have maybe even a little slither of sympathy about what happened.
"Fine Dempshey, let me write mine first, I'll show you compassion." The doctor growled as he snatched the paper and pen from Dempsey's hands.
Edward stared at the paper for a moment, feeling the tears already coming to his eyes. He would probably start crying while writing this, if he could even bring himself to put the pen on the paper. He was writing to the love of his life, the one he'd never see ever again. In his head he could hear the voice of the only person who'd ever loved him, ever loved every part of him, even the crazy part. The pen hit the paper as he sniffled and in his neat handwriting he began to write. 'To my dearest Alicia. . .'
