Author's Note: Hey all! I'm incredibly thankful for all of those who reviewed and read my story. It truly warms my heart to know I have such darling praise. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. It took me a little longer than I thought, but I got it out! There are some dramatic scenes ahead, so I just wanted to throw in a warning in case you don't like such things.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Call of Duty or any of its characters. Only Mr. Creed is mine.
CALL OF DUTY: ForeFront
Chapter 2: The Lost Are Not Forgotten
The dimly lit walls of the bunker showered down a cascade of shadows.
There was a reason the Amazon was chosen for the indoctrination grounds of Federation spies, and not just on its isolation from civilization. While that played a large part in the division process, it wasn't the sole purpose Creed chose to construct it there.
No, it was for a much less subtle explanation. The sounds. Strange, it seemed, to place a bunker one mile under ground in the biggest rain forest in the world, based only on the fact that it had a lot of noises.
But that's what made it so special. Creed could listen to the singing of the birds for years to come, day in and day out. It was music in its purest form, a ballade of professional orchestral notes sung in perfect harmony.
Yet funnel the singing a mile down under and the noise comes out distorted and ruptured. Like a howling shriek of misery and depression. The echoes added to the overall harshness of the tone.
Hence why Creed recorded the sounds and played them over and over again to the breaking form of Logan Walker. The mere way his prisoner's body twitched and swiveled when a pleasant chirp turned into an unbearable scream was sickening.
Creed was many things. A sadist wasn't one of them. He took no immense pleasure from other's pain and suffering, unlike a certain someone who was currently in Peru doing his bidding.
That cretin probably is taking his darling time, just to spite me. The insolence of it all. I'll have his head one day, there's no avoiding it. I don't care if I have to go through the Director myself.
The latter of his thoughts weren't entirely true, Creed knew so. He was just ranting in a mental fashion, preferring not to voice his obscenities aloud for the world to hear. Then he'd really have to go through the Director, but not in an honorable way. Truth be told, that woman scared Creed half to death.
Only half though, the other half was defiant yet admirable of her. She'd gotten her position in the Federation same as he, by stepping on the less fortunate's throats. They didn't climb the ladder, they skipped rungs.
The rule book was thrown out the window.
Despite the similarities of method, the two couldn't be more different. Creed preferred a laid-back planning stage, a calm before the storm before a brutal uprising. Strike quickly and without mercy.
The Director preferred a gorilla-tactic style warfare, which was ludicrous. She wanted to use her puppets to sacrifice themselves for bigger plays. Like lambs to the slaughter. It was effective, but unnecessarily gory. The Federation didn't have to gut themselves to begin anew, all they had to do was make a re-organized effort of attack.
The invasion plans were proof of that. If everything went according to plan, and it would, America was about to suffer the greatest casualty estimates since World War II.
And if Rorke did his part correctly, which Creed had a sinking feeling he wouldn't, the Ghosts would be dead and unable to stop the Federation's onslaught. Without the Ghosts, America wouldn't stand a chance against the invasion force.
It would be a massacre on both sides, of course, but the payoff would be well worth the death toll.
Sometimes the price of victory is high.
That was another quote from Creed's parents. This time his father, however. The Russian Spetsnaz soldier who'd fallen for a Brazilian black op commander. Their relationship was a spectacular merge of both country and duty, as his father was actually ordered to kill his mother.
How different the world would be if he had.
The training Creed had to suffer through as a child was something that haunted his dreams to this day. No man should be that unforgiving in training someone on how to kill. Especially if that someone was an eight year old boy who was also your son.
Creed cringed as he remembered how his father would react when he failed to meet expectations, when he failed to impress. The first time was when he flopped on a disarming technique, suffering a blow to the gut by his father's boot.
"Son, you cannot fail to falter in your advance."
The firm, yet stern, clear voice of his father had a shuddering effect on the inquisitor.
Those words...
"You cannot."
Putting his childhood aside for the moment, in hopes of brighter future, Creed relaxed as he remembered his father was dead. The man couldn't hurt him anymore, same went with his mother.
The two of them were like an ominous cloud of doubt that lingered after his silhouette, dampening his spirits on a bright day. Though in some ways, they also gave him strength. The strength to move on from his past, to forget the wrongs both his parents committed in raising him into the Federation.
But he'd never forgive. Not as long as his lungs were still breathing, and his heart was still beating.
Actually, the only other person who intimidated Creed other than his bloodline was the Director. The woman was demanding for results at the moment. Creed didn't like to be pressured. It took the fun out of stalking his prey, of draining their will and hope.
No, she wanted fast updates. So far, it'd been seventeen days since the indoctrination process began. Each time the video was played in front of the prisoner, his will was chipped down a piece. It was a slow but sure progression.
Unfortunately, Logan was strong for someone of so nimble a stature. It utterly perplexed Creed, and the man found himself somewhat respecting the Ghost.
The boy was loyal, an honorable trait.
True loyalty was hard to come by these days. What, with everyone out for themselves it was like a free-for-all melee. Some fought with bullets and steel, others with words and false promises. War existed everywhere, whether or not people chose to believe it.
The idea of life being a battlefield wasn't far from the truth, or was that love?
Either way, life was about survival of the fittest. Something Creed thought he excelled at.
"Let's get down to brass tacks." He finally let out, folding his arms as he leaned forward in his chair, producing a loud creak from the rusty metal. "The truth, Mr. Walker, is that we need your help. The Ghosts have been brutally terrorizing our cities on a quest for bloodlust. We need your expertise to put a stop to them."
"And why should I trust you? What makes you any different then them?" Logan's answer took some time to come out, but eventually the young man managed to croak out the two sentences.
Creed could tell he was just barely hanging on to the ledge. All it took was just a soft push in the wrong direction to send him toppling down.
"We're not murderers." Creed said flat out, his posture rising in a proud manner. "We don't encourage pointless killing. These Ghosts, they're on a vendetta against us. They have no regulation, no rules, no mercy."
"And you're so different?" The disbelief could be smelled a mile away, and it was a stench that Creed had an incredible distaste for.
"Yes, Mr. Walker, we are. We have a code that we follow, to-"
"-bring peace to all the world. Yeah, yeah. Your video keeps telling me that." Logan sighed, moving his head back as he gave his interrogator a long, hard stare. "Look, I get that you want me to help you catch these guys, but I don't even know how to begin. And I have family in the Ghosts, I won't hurt my brother. I won't betray my country."
Creed smiled at this. Fortunately, the brainwashing was beginning to remove Logan's determination to remain steadfastly against the Federation's methods, and it was making him much more willing to conversation. It was the baby steps of convincing him to defect against America.
Not an entirely easy process once it is put in motion. But then again, nothing is as it seems.
That was key thinking when dealing with the Ghosts. Creed knew that there was a plausible possibility that Logan was just faking being compelled, and that he was secretly plotting to be a mole in the Federation's organization.
A very important mole.
That was something Creed could not allow. He had to be one hundred percent certain that Logan Walker was entirely under Federation control, not the other way around.
The Director would have his head on a silver platter if he managed to underestimated his opponent, letting Logan get the drop on all of them, then selling them out to the Ghosts. There would be hell to pay for that. The only good side to that outcome, as far as Creed could see, was that Rorke would be dragged down with him.
But that traitor was exceptionally good at deception. He'd managed to fool the Ghosts into thinking he was dead for ten years, a feat that no other man Creed knew had accomplished. It was impressive, despite his bitter resentment to the man.
Rorke was still a tool, however. A valuable and expensive tool, but a tool nonetheless. It could not be said that a former Ghost took down the United States, especially two former Ghosts. That would make the Federation look weak and desperate for help, so they turn to their rivals for support.
No.
It had to be an actual Federation owned, government executive. A higher-up. That meant either the Director or him would take the credit for their victory. And knowing the Director, it was most likely not going to be a shared power. She was just about as greedy and ambitious as Creed himself.
If not more.
And that was why Creed found that she was his greatest rival. Not the Ghosts, not America, not even Rorke. No, his superior was the true threat. She had him in the palm of her hand though, Rorke too.
Every move he made was dictated by her. When the invasion was over, and America was reduced to a burning wasteland, she would discard her puppets with a vengeance. But she wouldn't kill him, Creed knew that.
He was too valuable an ally, and too dangerous an enemy to make. For despite their misgivings of each other, they both knew the benefits of working together.
"Sometimes the worst enemies make the greatest allies. Everyone can be bought over, you just have to find the type of currency they're interested in."
Another parent quote to throw in there. His mother always had a way of reading people. She could tell everything about a person within five seconds of looking at you. Whether or not you'd last in combat, how strong you are both mentally and physically, and how great your culinary skills were.
Just about everything.
Creed remembered the first words she ever spoke to him.
"You're my blood, chico. You're my soul, my mind, my spirit. You're a manipulator, a coward, a demon with words."
Her soft smile, the way her lips parted to reveal a hardened grin.
"You'll do just fine."
There were was no loving comfort to the words, Creed always felt that. The she looked at him whenever he was near, as if he was a weapon. A another dull blade in her arsenal of personal affects.
Though she was right. He'd turned out just fine. In fact, he was exactly how she predicted he'd turn out. It was slightly scary to think of how someone, even if they were close to you, could foresee your future.
It was nothing more than superstitious bullcrap, nothing else. The world didn't have time for fortune tellers and gypsies. Just a waste of space.
"I admire your loyalty, Mr. Walker. Though I think you'll find that that loyalty is misplaced." Creed's smile widened at the apparent look of confusion Logan was making at him.
"What do you mean?"
Creed licked his lips in feigned hesitation as he placed his hands on the table in front of them. "What do you know about your father, Logan? About the Ghosts?"
The edge of suspicion was back on Logan's face, Creed could see the subtle change in the man's eyes. The topic of his deceased father was still a sore one, Creed could relate. It took him almost two years to cope with his death, even though he hated the man. And it wasn't out of misplaced love.
Because he was the one pulling the trigger, metaphorically of course. Creed didn't know if he could live with himself if he actually physically killed his parents. But setting them up for the fall was almost as hard.
It was the betrayal that stung the most. Like an icy dagger driven straight to the heart...
"Logan, please."
That seemed to give the Ghost a push in answering the question, albeit Creed could tell he was incredibly reluctant.
"I know that my father was the leader of the Ghosts, that he led their ops for over ten years, and I know that Rorke put a bullet in his brain while making me watch."
The stream of words were so calm, so serene, that to anyone else it would seem that Logan had accepted his father's death. Though Creed saw through the facade, that the young man was stung with bitterness at the mention of Elias Walker. Especially at that last phrase, the hatred was palpable.
"Is that all you know?"
Logan scoffed at this, obviously annoyed. "Yes, that's all. I could go on about how brave and honorable my father was, how he was one of the strongest men I've ever known, and that it was an honor above all honors to work with him. And to be his son, the way his eyes lit up with pride whenever I passed a test, it was the best reward I could hope for. But your lapdog took that man away from us, took him down and executed him. Like a wounded dog! Rorke deserves to rot in hell for eternity for what he did to my dad, and you expect me to join you?!" Logan snarled, his face full of mockery.
The young man shook his head, his face stern. "Piss off."
"Mr. Walker, I'm just trying to help you understand the truth about your family. There are things that-"
"I said piss off, you Fed piece of shit!" Logan snapped forward, only to be restrained by his binds to the chair. This seemed to only anger Logan further as he started to writhe around, a pathetic and futile attempt at wiggling free. It was utterly beneath Creed to laugh at such a display.
Instead, Creed sighed as he looked down at the hard metal of the table, his shoulders falling into a more relaxed state of mind. "Again."
Logan's eyes widened as he suddenly jerked backward, the distorted sounds of the animals above causing him to cringe and cry out in agony as his thoughts were jumbled. The Federation video popped on again, the female narrator relaying all the fine points of what made the nation so great.
Creed had his earplugs in already, his back facing Logan as he looked on as if in deep thought. "It doesn't have to be so cruel, Mr. Walker!" He shouted above the noise, seeing this as another opportunity to try and get something out of the boy.
"You don't have to seclude yourself! You can rise up against the inner demons that cloud your thoughts, make you weak and defenseless! The truth is, that you refuse to hear, is that your father was a man convicted of corrupt morals! He had no empathy for his victims. No empathy for murdering them, as you so eloquently put it, like a wounded dog. He was a monster, Logan! A fiend! A blight on humanity that had to be eradicated!"
Creed couldn't see Logan, but he could hear the man squirming like a fish out of water. It was working, the combined efforts of the hypnosis and talking was having some effect on his ability to resist.
"I don't believe you! You're a liar, a fucking liar!" Logan screamed back, the fury and anger unmistakable in his voice.
"Let me prove it to you, Logan! This is something you need to know." Creed smiled at the last part, his devious mind already concocting the best method of how to get further inside of Logan's mind.
The video ended and the lights went off, the silence only broken by the heavy breathing of Logan, followed by a soft whisper. If it wasn't so quiet already, Creed probably wouldn't have heard it.
"Show me."
Bingo. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
"I'm sorry?" Creed finally said, the smugness not shying from his tone. "Could you repeat that?"
"I said...show me...show me your proof."
Peru wasn't that much nicer than Venezuela. The same heat, the same humidity, and the same waiting.
Just waiting.
Waiting for something, anything, to happen. Any sign, clue, or tiny detail that the Ghosts might've missed. Though they were always thorough, and always prepared. Nothing went unnoticed, every single move was analyzed and calculated. It was why they were the best of the best, and why they were the ones pushing down the Federation's doors.
It had taken a lot of time to mangle around all the checkpoints and security sweeps to finally make it to Lima. Apparently, the package had been delayed, meaning it gave the Ghosts extra time to prepare.
Which was good, for as soon as Hesh had reached Lima, he realized that they'd need it.
It was like Fort Knox in the city. Guards swept by every hour, only to be replaced by another detail of troops in the five minute interval it took to swap patrols. Whoever was running security was doing a top notch job.
It was about time they were presented with a challenge though. With everything being so easy along the way, Hesh enjoyed the new thrill of actually having to use his skills.
The heightened security was also a sign that they were on the right track. If Rorke was personally handling his brother's interrogation, that meant that the Ghost Killer would be arriving in Peru along with the package.
Whether or not they were separate or together, Hesh didn't know. He didn't care, honestly. Because his sights were set on one objective, one goal, one priority.
Rescue Logan.
That was all that mattered at the moment, not Rorke. Despite the urge to take that bastard down, if it meant straying from mission directive, Hesh wouldn't do it.
Besides, there'll be plenty of times afterwards to try.
And there were going to be times after this mission was over, Hesh was forcing himself to think that. There could be no second-guessing right now. If he got too intense with this, he'd lose sight of what really mattered. And that was rescuing his brother, not getting revenge for his father's death.
Rorke would get his, soon. Just not today.
However, if Rorke was in the same room with Logan, that meant taking two birds with one stone. Get revenge and rescue his brother. That was the preferred outcome of what was most likely not going to happen.
It was incredible wishful thinking, Hesh knew that. But he couldn't help himself from hoping. It was what got him this far in the first place.
It surprised him how powerful that one feeling could be.
Hope.
Such a fickle thing, yet also so strong. There weren't words to describe it. One could only feel it, feel the power of desperation or determination course through them. For as long as there was hope, Hesh wouldn't give up.
Not on his baby brother, not on a Ghost.
Ghosts don't leave their men behind, it was one of the first things Hesh learned about them when he and his brother joined Keegan and Merrick in rescuing Ajax. He remembered crashing into the stadium and going right up through the seats.
The compelling factor he took away from that was how driven Keegan and Merrick were. Just how hopeful and defendant they were that Ajax was able to handle himself.
Hesh closed his eyes as he had a moment of silence for another fallen Ghost. Another person Rorke had taken from the team.
That list was now at four, and Hesh was determined to make sure his brother didn't share the same fate as the others.
"Yo boss, we're ready to move out."
Hesh turned from his gaze of window-watching to see that Kick had entered the small room he was currently occupying.
The Ghosts had set up shop in a small office complex near the outskirts of Lima. Another one of the unforeseen challenges of meeting a stepped up security system was that they couldn't enter the city with regular methods.
The checkpoints were manned twenty-four-seven under a constant state of surveillance. Sneaking into the city was impossible, as every checkpoint had laser sensors and complete coverage of every possible entry point.
The area was completely locked down.
Anyway in or out was heavily monitored, so therefore the Ghosts had to pass under the radar. And what better way to do that than by passing right under their noses.
"Good. I'll be right there." Hesh smiled at Kick before turning back to face the window. It was early morning, and the sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon.
The pink hue cast a feeling of tranquility around Hesh, as if nothing was wrong. The world was perfect, his brother wasn't missing, his father wasn't dead. He felt as if he had just gotten back from a rigorous forest hike with Logan, coming back to the house to see their father smiling at them on the porch.
The feeling washed over him for a split second before dissipating. Hesh wished he could've enjoyed that moment for a little while longer.
Alas, it was time to move in on the city.
Peril awaits.
Hesh smirked at the inside comment, turning around as he slowly walked into the main room where Keegan, Merrick, and Kick were waiting patiently.
"Thanks for waiting, guys." Hesh smiled at the team, making his way to the center of the room. A large table was spread out around them, pictures of Rorke, the mystery man, as well as entrance and exit points of the perimeter in Lima.
It was a full out stealth op. No room for any screw ups.
It's not like our lives depend on it.
"Alright, here's the plan! We need to obtain enemy uniforms for two of us so that we can commandeer a supply truck. They enter the city every three days, so if we miss our window, Logan's gonna be gone by the time the next supply run comes. This makes our success even more vital."
Everyone nodded.
"So first things first, we need to get into an ambush position around the truck, and take out the two drivers before they're able to call in an attack. Merrick and I will be impersonating checkpoint guards. Once we get the uniforms, we'll change into those." Merrick smirked at the thought of wearing an enemy uniform, apparently amused by the idea.
"Then, Keegan and Kick will enter the back and hide in the supply crates. We'll go through the checkpoint without raising any suspicion, get inside Lima, and then plot out Logan's rescue from there." Hesh finished, looking pleased with the plan.
"I like it." Keegan's firm reply got a rise out of Hesh as the Ghosts nodded their approval, moving over to the make-shift armory they had established to gear up.
Once all weapons, equipment, and explosives had been accounted for, the Ghosts swiftly exited the office complex in a diamond formation. Making their way down the streets at this time of morning wasn't too difficult, as the civilians were just beginning to wake up. Morning traffic wouldn't start in another hour.
For once, time was on their side. Hesh intended to use that to his advantage.
Swiping down a side-alley, Hesh motioned up for Keegan and Kick to get up onto the fire escape. While doing so, he and Merrick attached silencers to their rifles. It was best not to let the enemy know exactly where you were coming from, something that thrilled Hesh the most about the Ghosts.
They struck quickly and accordingly, in the shadows, before vanishing from sight. Hence the namesake: Ghost.
"I got an eye on two tangos inside the checkpoint booth. Kick on three. One, two, three." Keegan's voice cut through the radio, followed by two piercing sounds and grunts as the snipers took down the two men inside the guard tower.
The tower was right above a miniature checkpoint box, where another guard was watching what appeared to be a soccer game.
Well, at least he'll die happy. Or angry, depending on who he's rooting for.
Hesh quietly opened the door with one hand, his other pressed against the trigger of his SCAR. Maneuvering around the frame, Hesh brought himself up behind the man. "Psst. Hey, buddy." The guard must've been scared shitless, because his fumble for a weapon was so utterly panicked that Hesh felt pity for the man he was about to kill.
Not wasting any more time, Hesh stuck his knife out and sliced it right through the man's jugular.
A wet gurgle and some twitching signified that the guard was no more.
"Great. He got the uniform bloody." Hesh groaned, already taking off the jacket and baclava, working his way down to the pants and boots. Once the uniform was fully suited on his body, Hesh got to work washing off any residue of blood from his small scuffle.
Stepping out as he finished strapping the boot on, Hesh saw that Merrick was already finished with suiting up. "ETA on the truck, ten minutes."
Hesh nodded picking up the guard's AK-47 as he began waltzing around as if on watch. Merrick was making a sweep of the area, and Kick and Keegan were providing overwatch. The ten minutes seemed to pass by in slow motion. No one dared to speak, for fear that someone may be monitoring their communications.
"I hope your Spanish isn't rusty." Hesh whispered over to Merrick, who shouldered his weapon.
"If we do this right, we won't need to talk." Hesh could see the Ghost's grin even though is face was covered by a baclava. There was truth to that statement. Talking Spanish was the least of their problems at the moment.
The sound of a honking and tire squeals was the sign that the truck had arrived. "Eyes up. We take them out on my signal." Hesh spoke into his com, walking up to the road with his arms up high.
The truck driver pushed down the brakes, bringing the truck to a halt right in front of the soldier. Nodding at Merrick, Hesh walked around to the driver's side in a slow, deliberate manner as Merrick did the same.
Reaching out a hand, Hesh knocked on the window as the Fed lowered it for him to "speak". Instead of reaching out a hand, Hesh raised the barrel of his rifle to the man's chest. The wide eyes were met with fire as the Fed's body jerked back from two precise hits to the solar plexus, his buddy's body doing the same. "We're clear. Keegan, Kick, get down here." Hesh radioed in as he dragged the body out of the car, moving it across the pavement.
Finding a nice corner to hide it in, Hesh dumped the body in a garbage bin before running back to the truck.
Merrick had disposed of his body as well, while Keegan and Kick got to work putting opening up two supply crates to hide in. "I still don't get why we hafta hide in these bins. Can't we just put on some Fed outfits. We got plenty of dead bodies." Kick remarked, his face grim.
Hesh sighed, patting the man's shoulder. "Like I said, only two people are supposed to be on the supply run. We bring anymore and it'll look suspicious."
Kick grumbled something about stupid protocol before squeezing into a wooden crate, his only company smoked sausage and ham.
Hesh looked over at Keegan, seeing the same look of discomfort from having to squish into so small a space. "You owe me for this." Was his only reply before he closed himself in a pickled pork crate.
Hesh only chuckled as he got into the driver's seat, patting the side of the truck to signal that they were moving out.
The drive up to the checkpoint crossing was a slow and agonizing process. By now, half the city was awake and about on their daily morning routine, civilians going to and fro from grocery shopping to speeding by on motorbikes.
Hesh had to admit that their was a strange beauty to the city of Lima, as the crowed ramparts were much different than the high-class skyscrapers of Caracas. It brought out a whole different side to the Federation that Hesh had never seen before.
The people walking about weren't enemies, they were just factory workers, farmers, grocers, going around to provide for their families. It only sickened Hesh as he realized the poor state these people were in, and that the Federation was squandering their money for personal gain.
Or maybe the poverty was due to their accord. It had never occurred to Hesh before, that America might be the reason these people were living the way they were. That the war was causing harm to innocents. That the Federation was in desperate need of money, and that these people were the only way to obtain said money.
Looking around, seeing all the American hate signs, Hesh figured that the Federation was poising these citizens against them. They were brainwashing them into hate with false propaganda.
It also made Hesh face the bitter reality of how awful war really was. That there were no clear winners, that everyone was affected.
But the Federation was not providing for its people, they were casting them out like an old bicycle.
They'll pay for this, I swear.
Hesh was brought back to the present as he saw the checkpoint to Lima up ahead, and that they were already being waved through.
Apparently these guards were so bored they weren't even bothering to check the back. All Hesh had to do was provide a chart of what supplies they were bringing in, not even speak at little bit, say a "Muchos gracias", then be on their way.
It took twenty minutes of driving to be out of Federation surveillance, and it was then that Hesh pulled the truck into a side-street before stopping it.
Making his way to the back, Hesh started to unload the Ghost equipment with Merrick's help. It was only when they had made it up to a dilapidated, high-rise apartment square that Hesh remembered Keegan and Kick. They were still stuffed inside the supply crates.
He looked over to see that Merrick had the same revelation. "You think we should go get them?"
Merrick seemed to ponder the question for a few moments before looking up and shaking his head. "Nah, we don't need to rush. I'm sure they'll figure it out."
They both shared a laugh at that before getting to work on setting up the communication tap. It was a slow process of meddling with wires, hacking into algorithm codes, and bleeding into the Federation surveillance system.
The angry knocking at the door signified that the two crate buddies had managed to break out. Hesh was greeted with the finger as he opened the door. "Dude, not fucking cool."
Kick had ham and beef all in his hair. Keegan faired no better, having strings of pork around his waist like a belt buckle.
Hesh was about to reply when a clear-cut voice cut through the static of the monitoring system Merrick had set up. And it was a voice that Hesh could never forget, a voice that sent a burning hatred through his gut.
"I don't care how many men it takes, I want the room set up for processing within the next two hours. If you don't have it done by then, I'm gonna be...upset. You got that?"
Hesh grit his teeth as he listened to the radio chatter, his fists clenched.
"Y-Yes, sir! Of course, sir!"
A light chuckle followed.
"That's great to hear, son. That's great to hear."
Rorke.
It was him.
Gabriel Rorke had arrived in Lima, Peru.
Logan refused to look at the picture again.
Just seeing it the one time was enough to make him be scarred for life. He had a feeling that whenever he would close his eyes, the image of the child's vacant face would haunt his thoughts.
And it was't the only picture he'd been shown.
His interrogator had pulled out all the stops with this one. It was almost worse than the video they kept playing, the sounds of crazed animals, or even the foreboding silence of just waiting for the next barrage of torture.
But as time went on in this place, this bunker, Logan began questioning if it truly was torture. The Federation seemed to have a reason for keeping him alive, the belief that he'd join forces with them to help bring down his family. It was a ludicrous notion, but Logan was beginning to have his doubts.
The virtues that the Federation stood for, the noble sense of duty and respect, it was admirable. It made him see that perhaps the Federation and the United States weren't all that different with their ideology. They both exaggerated patriotism and dignity, both proclaimed that the other was the true enemy.
But truth was a fickle thing. Good and evil were just matters of perspective and thought. To one side, the other was evil, and vice-versa to the other. The truth was just the majority opinion of a matter. Everything could be questioned and verified.
Logan was starting to question his morals. For how could he ever work for a country that supported the massacre of children? The pictures that the Voice had been showing him were of young boys and girls, all laying dead on the streets, the product of violent strafing runs and shoot-outs.
And worse, the Voice claimed the Ghosts were responsible. That they were being encouraged by the United States government to carry out such attacks, to defeat the enemy by any means necessary.
It was ghastly. It was inhuman, and it needed to be stopped.
That was something that Logan found the Federation agreed with. It had to be stopped, this brutal killing had to end. To cease.
Though Logan still refused to believe that his brother would commit such atrocities, that he'd actually carry out such orders. That was until he heard the recording. It was something that shocked him to the core, made him grieve in disbelief and horror.
There was no way it was true. The recording had to have been forged, but the Voice claimed that it was authentic. Logan knew he was right.
He knew because there were certain subtle, pitch tones that simply couldn't be faked. And his ears were trained to catch up on such frequencies.
The recording was genuine.
"Would you like for me to play it again?" The interrogator spoke up, following Logan's intense silence.
The prisoner broke out of his deep concentration as he shook his head slowly. "No, I-I've heard enough."
His claim seemed to have fallen on deaf ears as the man pushed the "play" button once again.
"Please! Please don't do this, I can't help you! I don't know what you want!" Came the frantic cry of what Logan could only surmise to be a helpless civilian.
"You know exactly what I want. The Federation troops have been circumventing a package around this area, I want to know where it is. I know you've been helping them, I know you're lying to me."
Hesh.
His brother's commanding tone was unmistakable, Logan knew it was him.
"You're wrong! I don't! I have no idea about any package or item! The Federation troops were dropping off supplies for our people, we're just poor farmers!"
The man's sobs sounded gut-wrenching. They sounded sincere. Logan closed his eyes as he knew what was coming next.
"You're lying to me again. I don't like lairs. Bring out his daughter."
"No! No, she's just a little girl! She had nothing to do with this, leave her out of this!"
"If you don't tell me the truth, I'll put a bullet into your daughter's sweet little brain. And I'll make you watch."
Logan cringed.
"Daddy? Daddy, what's happening?! I'm scared!"
"Sweety, sweety please, look at me. Look at daddy." The sound of resist and scrapping could be heard. "You son of a bitch! I told you, I don't know anything. Just please, please don't hurt my baby!"
Logan let out a breath as he turned to the man standing next to him. "You don't have to keep playing this, I can't hear anymore." He tried to sound calm, but the frantic rush he was feeling was making his voice shake.
"I'm sorry, but your daughter must pay the price for your lies. You could've saved her, but now you get to watch her die."
Hesh, no...
Logan knew it was useless to try and reason with his brother. It was a recording, and God knew how many more of them there were.
"God, no! You monster!"
"Daddy, help me!"
"You failed yourself, and now you pay the ultimate price."
God, Hesh! Leave her alone!
"Baby, NO-!"
"YOU SON OF A BITCH, HESH!" Logan shouted out, his nostrils flaring in an anger so intense his whole body was shaking.
He hadn't even realized that his interrogator had turned the recording off, and that the man was looking at him with a deep glare. If Logan wasn't so riled up, he would have seen the small smile on the man's lips.
"The Ghosts are out of control. America is out of control. You can see why we need you, Mr. Walker. If we allow this to continue, we are putting our citizens at risk. It is your duty to uphold the oath you took, to protect America from all evil."
The man kneeled down, looking Logan in the eyes.
"Except now you must protect America from itself."
Logan breathed heavily, his anger residing as he thought about this situation. It was the first time he actually felt a hatred towards his brother, an actual anger and resentment to the man he deeply loved in all the world.
It had scared him how violently he'd responded. Logan didn't know he was capable of feeling such a thing towards his brother. Towards his blood. But he knew that the man was speaking the truth.
America had failed itself. They had lost their way. And even though Logan realized that he must fight against his former allies, he felt guilt. But it was for the greater good, this was for the greater good.
"Where do we start?"
Logan could tell his response brought an immense glee in the man's irises, his mouth twisting upward into a wide smile.
"Follow me."
Logan felt his binds loosen as the interrogator freed him from his restraints.
With a shaky step, Logan Walker rose from his chair a changed man.
He saw the interrogator beginning to leave, though there was still one question he had left. "Hold up." The man turned to face him, his eyebrows raised. "I don't even know who you are."
The man seemed to be expecting this, as he straightened himself out before slowly approaching Logan.
"Then allow me to properly introduce myself."
The man extended a hand.
"Howard Creed."
Logan smiled as he firmly grasped the man's palm.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Creed."
Author's Note: Well, there you are! I hope you like it, I certainly liked writing it. Again, I apologize if there are some grammar or spelling mistakes. I was in a bit of a rush to get this out, so yeah.
Creed and Logan team up! Rorke's arrived! Hesh and the gang are plotting a rescue!
Stay tuned!