NOTE: I couldn't ignore this plot bunny.
Frost had always been the enigma of the squad.
Sandman learned that about him from the very start. Since boot camp, since their first mission, since earning their stripes, since Delta training, since the day Team Metal was welded together as an unbreakable unit on the fires of the battlefield, he knew that the reserved member of their elite force kept to himself, kept things simple, and kept secrets and probably forgot about them.
That was Staff Sergeant Derek "Frost" Westbrook. The man constantly remained nearly aloof, silent, but always there to stand in the way of a bullet to save his brothers.
So it came as a big surprise when Frost froze up (no pun intended) at the mere sight of the HVI in the panic room of the strangely un-secure CIA safe house in Hamburg. To Sandman, it was far more pressing than the HVI herself: a teenaged redhead with striking green eyes.
"Frost. Frost!"
Westbrook broke out of his stupor. He snapped straight towards his superior, his entire face shrouded in a pitch black mask with his eyes shielded behind an even darker shaded visor. He hid his shock well but his body betrayed it.
"Frost, you still with me?"
Frost nodded. Shakily.
Sandman glanced at Truck and Grinch who were both equally perplexed. Frost rarely behaved this way. No. He never behaved this way.
This did not bide well for their situation. With a girl that gave off weird vibes and one of his own men suddenly struck hard by said vibes, it would only be a matter of time before a slip-up would cost them all dearly. The Russians were spearing through the German defenses to the east and it would take them less than an hour to reach Hamburg.
"Come on, we got to get to the street," Sandman reiterated, tapping Frost on the shoulder and gesturing at the HVI to stick close. "Exfil will be here any minute now."
"Copy."
"Rog."
"Yeah," came Frost's rather icy reply.
Sandman thought nothing of it, guiding his team and the HVI to the exit. The convoy arrived seconds later and they piled in. Most of their egress was silent until Russian artillery began cratering the city.
"Why are they attacking?" asked the HVI, her near-innocent curiosity suddenly disarming as she gazed back through the glass at the smoke rising above the skyline.
Sandman stared at her, incredulous. Surely the CIA didn't shelter her that much. Unless this was something beyond their pay grade. Best to humor her at least. He was about to start explaining the basics of current world affairs when Frost beat him to it.
"Russia wants the whole of Europe. Lot of pent up anger towards the West, fueled by terrorist attacks, and a toxic ideology. You'd only get depressed if we told you the numbers."
Everyone in the vehicle fell silent; even the driver spared a curious glance behind him.
The HVI, however, deflated. Her shoulders slumped and her expression became forlorn. It was as if she was on the verge of tears. Frustrated tears if her knuckles going white were any indication. There was something really stranger about this girl. Toned muscles bulged against her shirt while her legs, partially spared by her baggy shorts, had the rigidness of an athlete. Not to mention how long her hair was when she didn't tuck into her jacket.
Sandman thought to give her a reassuring pat but decided against it. He waited for her to rein in her breathing before she answered coolly, "Okay."
Frost, who for some reason still kept his mask and visor on, leaned his head back. "Good. Good. At least you're alive and well, Pyrrha."
The HVI's eyes shot up towards him. So did Sandman's. And Truck's. And Grinch's. Hell, again the driver spared them an even more curious glance. "H-how did you know my name?"
If he could have shown his face, Sandman was sure Frost was mimicking a fish out of water. His jaw sure was moving but no words were coming out. Instead, all they heard was a stuttering, "I, uh, well, y-you, um, uh..."
"Frost," Truck started slowly. "Buddy."
"You, uh," Grinch piped. "You, um..."
"Frost. Anything we need to know?" Sandman sternly inquired.
Staff Sergeant Derek Westbrook went rigid then slumped defeatedly in his seat. "Shit."
"Never mind," the team leader dismissed. "We'll sort this out once we get back to base."
"Yes, sir."
Sandman stewed in his thoughts for most of their egress. He knew from the start this mission was fishy. Everything about this op was fishy. Sketchy. Off-putting. Unusual. Completely off the rails. The fact that they had to extract someone 'imperative to the war effort' (according to the dossier) from an unguarded CIA safe house (where the hell was the security detail?) in the middle of a war zone (technically, the Germans bravely delayed the Russian blitzkrieg by a few hours) rang so many alarm bells but they trained to obey first, ask later.
Right now, Sandman had so many things to ask now that they had already obeyed.
Truck couldn't place it but he was sure the HVI was somehow familiar. They had about fifteen minutes to the rendezvous and then another hour or so to the USS Nimitz. In that time, he retreated into the recesses of his mind to dig out anything that would clear out that nagging feeling in his guts.
He remembered a day at the bar in Maryland. They were on leave after Kingfish. Everyone was shaken up and had taken to unwinding at a Cheers-like watering hole. Frost was not much of a drinker but after getting a few shots in, he started opening up. It was not much but he did reveal some things about himself to the whole team.
Truck recalled a faded photograph the man kept in his wallet. It was of eight kids fancy school uniforms complete with suits, blazers, and plaid skirts. Two boys, six girls. Frost stood out. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Yep, definitely him. Younger, goofier, and (for lack of a better word) dorkier Frost. The other was some Asian guy who looked embarrassed at being hugged by the ginger next to him. And then the four other girls to the right. A cheeky blonde, a stuck-up girl who dyed her hair white, an aloof chick with an oversized bow, and a short-statured hyper kid. Then the redhead...next...to...Frost...
"Yeah...we were team Juniper. Them over there made up team Ruby. We were sister teams, you know. Good times."
"Heh, must've been pretty imaginative kids, eh, Frost."
"Oh, you have no idea."
Truck blinked himself back into reality and glanced at the HVI. No. It couldn't be. He was just tired and his mind was connecting dots that were too far apart.
Frost did mention going to a fancy manners school called Beacon. Where the students liked to cosplay a lot. Including making crazy weapon hybrids that looked like they were pulled out of cartoons and anime shows. And took the furry culture to a whole new level or something along those lines. Kind of like a romantic teen period drama complete with a benevolent coffee-loving headmaster and his terrifying disciplinarian deputy named Miss Goodwitch.
He even joked (the only time Frost ever really joked, if Truck knew him that long) that they had superpowers like super speed and magnetism. Kind of like X-Men.
Thinking about it now, inside an APC, Truck was starting to question his sanity. The HVI looked a lot like the redhead in that photo. She even had the green eyes. And that Frost knew her by name, acted up like she had been dead...
Nah. No. Truck was just tired. That was it. Yeah, that was it.
Grinch felt a little hurt knowing that Frost kept secrets from them. They were a team. A band of brothers that fought and bled on the battlefield. They spent years together, hunting down terrorists, keeping the world safe one bullet at a time.
Sure, there were some aspects of their private lives that should stay private (special mention to debts and divorces) but the fact that Frost knew the HVI like they used to be a thing was unnerving. One, because the HVI was underage. Two, because Frost knew something that they didn't. Something that most probably made Command go nuts.
As they disembarked onto the USS Nimitz, Grinch swore he saw one of the trolleys move by itself. He was the only one who saw it because the rest of Team Metal caught the HVI after she tripped, squealed, and almost fell flat on her face.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes. The dirt on his gloves was apparent. He needed a shower. And probably a cold one. Seriously, the trolley fucking moved with no one pushing it. No one even noticed because of how hectic the situation was. Then again, it was impossible that no one else saw it. There were over a hundred personnel on deck when they touched down. One of them bound to have seen it.
Grinch turned to the person closest to him. Frost.
"Hey, man, you saw that?"
"Saw what?"
"That thing there. I think it moved," he said, nudging his head to the slightly displaced trolley, knowing how stupid he sounded for a Delta operative.
Frost only stared at him. "You're loosing it, man."
Grinch sighed. Yeah, he sounded really stupid. "Yeah. You're right. Man, this is some bullshit."
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: May 14, 2018
LAST EDITED: May 14, 2018
INITIALLY UPLOADED: May 14, 2018
NOTE: I've been playing Modern Warfare 3 a lot recently. Mostly as stress relief from academics because finals hurt like a bitch and I feel slightly brain dead after it all.
Also, this is partially inspired by Rangers Lead The Way by Rinter215. Despite its shortcomings, it has some good potential for its plot.
And, yes, I'm pulling a 'Jaune-is-an-experienced-soldier-in-CoD' trope (or 'Jaune-is-a-jaded-MF-in-*insert war game here*' trope). Part of me thinks that it's been overused (not just in the CoD fandom but in other fandoms that involve jaded soldiers/badass war vets) but I thought I'd try my hand at it and take a different approach.
I mean, Frost is a silent, faceless protagonist, after all. Perfect for crafting an OC or fusing him with another character from another show i.e. RWBY. On another note, if anyone noticed, I twisted the MW3 storyline a bit because I honestly felt that the original storyline was too far-fetched and near ridiculous after MW1. I mean, I like the gameplay and 'shooting gallery levels' of MW2 and MW3 but the plot could have been better.
So that's my contribution to this crossover section. Hope you liked it.