Creating Opportunities

"I can tell by the stun look on your faces that you heard of me," comments Price.

Damon realize his jaw is hanging open so he closes it and tries to regain his composer, but Ash beats him to it.

"John Price?" she finally asks for confirmation, "the one who attacked that resort in Saudi Arabia?"

Price snorts again, "see what I mean?" he says as he looks at Damon while gesturing at Ash, "they tell you nothing but lies," he returns his gaze to Ash, "yes, I attacked that resort, but only to kill Makarov."

Damon frowns, "but I thought it was the Arabians who killed him, I mean, hanging the guy from the ceiling sounds a little like their forte."

"The Arabs?" Price questions before making a disgusted noise in his throat, "don't make me laugh, who you think were the ones who helped hide the man in the first place?"

Damon and Ash looks to each other in bewilderment, is it possible everything they have learn of the past decade is nothing but a lie?

Damon sighs before looking back at Price, "I guess there's a lot of stuff we don't know," he offers a smile.

"Yeah a lot" continues Price, "the fact that I'm in here should be proof of that."

"True," Ash says cautiously, "if you don't mind me asking, how did you get here," she waves around at the building, "I would have though the Arabians would have been more than happy to tor… hold you as a prisoner."

"You mean torture?" Price asks, "Yeah, got tortured for a bit, but when the desert war started up, they traded me to the Koreans for a boat load of missiles, guess the Northerners wanted to brag that they have the 'legendary' terrorist John Price in their clutches, I'm guessing that's how you found me."

"That sounds logical," Damon says delicately before saying, "now if you don't mind me asking-"

"No," Price said.

The Ghost frowns, "no? What do you mean no?"

"No, as in negative, denial," Price elaborates as he folds his arms and glares, "not going to do it."

"Not going to do what?" Ash eventually asks.

"The only reason you came to bust me out is because your government, or her majesty, or the prime minister, or whoever it is in charge now, needs my help in doing something," his scowl hardens, "I'm done being used."

"But this is a matter of life and death," Damon tries to reason.

"It always is," Price continues, "that's what got me into this mess in the first place."

"Well isn't that why you joined your military in the first place?" Ash asks.

"The only reason why I joined was because your," he emphasizes the last word, "country was in the midst of the Cold War with Russia, I joined because I knew if you two bone headed people had nuclear war then the UK would be right in the middle of it." His glare deepens, "all my problems started with your country."

"Well I'm not sure if you heard," Damon says, "but your nation has just joined the struggle as well, so-"

"So nothing," Price counters, "I did my time for the Queen and how does she repay me? She let the Ultranationalist had their way with me in a forsaken hole in the ground before I got sprung and you know what?" he waves his arm around at the structure, "this joint is actually a lot nicer that where the Russkis were holding me."

Damon feels anger starting to rise within him. From the looks of it, Price has a lot of good reasons for wanting to stay out of the war, but he can't leave him here, he refuses to leave him here.

"Price," Ash tries again, "I have no idea what it was that our country did that wronged you but-"

"What your country did," Price states with venom, "is use me for their own purposes, had me work under the command of people who wouldn't know how to lead a picnic, be betrayed, listened as my friends and comrades died and tarnished my career and my very name. I suppose you can say I'm old when it comes to it, but my name means a great deal to me," he stands before growling the last words, "and I will not go through all that again."

He turns as he makes ready to leave, but that's when Damon gets up and heads around the table before he could get any further. Price turns as Damon nears and he visibly stiffens as he readies for a fight, but instead Damon holds out his right arm towards the British prisoner.

"Look," the Ghost orders, "I don't care if you hate me or my country just look at the names."

Price rolls his eyes but Damon demands again, "I said look at the names!"

Price eyes Damon before looking down and observes the limb.

"Those are the people, my family, who fought and gave their lives for the safety and security of their country." Price keeps his gaze on the arm, "all of them died for each other, they knew their country depended on them, but they fought and died for their friends and for their family, for my family."

He feels Ash's eyes watching him closely, but Damon ignores it as he keeps a steady watch on Price. "Now what's left of the people I love is right in the line of fire again. I don't care about you, I don't care about your past, I don't even care if you hate me," Damon continues, "all I care about is keeping my family safe and ensuring that they have the long happy lives that they deserve, and I will not allow your hatred to threaten that, do you understand?"

Price is silent as he read the names on Damon's arm over and over again, only occasionally looking up to gauge the American's reaction before looking down again. Damon wonders if he had overstep his boundary, for all he knows, Price is the lunatic that everyone claims he is and is really trying to figure out the best way to strike at Damon.

Finally, Price releases a long pent up sigh as he looks to the ceiling for a moment before looking back at Damon and says, "This is the last time."

The Ghost nods back, "Whatever happens next is all on you."

Price stares at him before saying, "I want a plane that will take me anywhere I want to go."

"That issue may have to be discussed a little," replies Damon.

Price shrugs, "sounds fair."

"Yeah, but one thing," Ash suddenly steps into the conversation, "How are we going to get out of here?"

"No problem," Price answers, "You're the rescue party here, you tell me" he spreads his arms out, "what's the plan?"

Damon and Ash shares a glance before finally admitting, "Actually we didn't really get that far ahead in planning."

Price rolls his eyes, "Of course."

"Hey," Ash interrupts, "we try our best, we hardly have any information to go off of at all, besides, it's not like you have an escape route."

"As a matter of fact I do," Price answers.

The two Ghosts stares at him for a moment in dumbstruck silence before Damon finally mutters, "Why didn't you escape already then?"

Price shrugs as if it's the most obvious answer in the world, "no reason to, at least here I get free meals and as long as I don't provoke anyone, unlike some places I know, I won't get shot."

Damon shakes his head, still wondering whether or not if Price is truly insane.

Price speaks again, "Well we might as well get something to eat, you blokes showed up right in time for supper."

"Supper?" questions Ash, "what about the escape plan?"

"Well to be honest," Price says, "it may work best if we do it at dawn and there's no point in commencing a jailbreak on an empty stomach." With that, he turns and makes his way to the long line on the other side of the room where the food is probably being distributed.

The Ghosts remains still before Ash looks to Damon and demands, "did that really just happen?"

Damon shakes his head in wonder, "and I thought I have seen everything in the world that is considered crazy."

A few minutes later Damon is staring down at a substance that can only be described as purple slop.

"What is it?" Ash finally dares to ask, sitting opposite of Damon at their table with Price.

"It's an abomination to nature," Damon declares, knowing full well after his Canadian mission that not even the environment could produce something this disgusting.

"As far as we can tell," Price injects as he scoops in mouthfuls of the slop, "it's one forth fish, one fourth seawater, one fourth grass and one fourth nuclear waste."

Ash watches as he eats, "how can you actually bear this stuff?"

"When you're in here as long as I have," Price pauses to finish his meal, "you'll learn to live off just about anything."

Damon tries to follow Price's movement and uses a fork to scoop up the food that resembles mud and shoves it into his mouth without a second's hesitation. He gags and wrenches at the taste, causing him to grab his small cup and guzzles down the precious drops of water in an attempt to eradicate the horrible taste in his mouth. This is enough to make Price release a deep chuckle.

"I think we'll wait until we get out before eating anything," Damon finally voices, hoping that pure adrenaline will help keep them moving.

"Whatever you say yank," Price comments as he leans towards the Sergeant and asks, "incidentally, where's the rescue team supposed to be?"

Damon glances around for any sign of guards, but only sees the occasional flash as someone walks by one of the holes in the walls. Seeing that it's as clear as it's going to get, Damon leans forward and answers, "To the southeast of the island."

Price thinks for a moment before nodding, "that's manageable, we might be able to even-" he is interrupted when some sort of bell buzz and a rattle of machine gun fire fills the room, but nobody screams in pain. Slowly though, the prisoners rise from their seats and starts walking out the way they came.

"Meet here tomorrow," Price instructs as he stands, leaving his tray on the table, "and we'll proceed with the operation." He pauses, frowns in mild confusion before he grins, "huh, never thought I would feel this excited again," with that he turns and joins the departing crowd.

Ash sighs as she pushes her dish away from her and stands, "guess we should go as well."

Damon briefly nods as he stands and together they leave the cafeteria. They left through the same corridor, walking along the long hallways with the killer snipers just hovering overhead. The gunshots and the people killed isn't as frequent as before, either the guards are more merciful in the evenings or all the weak links have already been done away with. They went up and down hills; stay close to the center and away from the walls, trying to avoid being cornered or being picked off by fellow in-mates or guards.

Finally after the long walk, in which time Damon's stomach is aching and sweat is rolling down his brow, they reach the cell areas. The doors are already wide open and are welcoming the convicts back in as they file inside. At first it's difficult for Damon and Ash to find their original cell before finding the blood stain from where the prisoner they first saw get shot and trampled on. They triangulate its position and pinned down where their room is. No sooner did they enter the concrete cell, the door slams shut with the sound of mechanical locks whirling, sealing them in.

There are no blankets or even spare clothing in the room, the only thing that has change is that somebody has placed a bucket inside with them

Damon sighs before saying, "might as well get some shut eye."

He is running, he has no idea why, but something is telling him to run as fast as he could.

"Damon!"

Joyce comes to a halt, that's when he finally gets a good look around. He is in a forest, one that he is having trouble identifying.

"Damon!"

The same voice, only this time the urgency in the tone is higher pitch. He has no weapons, but he takes off at a dead sprint as he heads towards the person calling for his help. Overhead grey clouds move in and a downpour initiates; one that sends freezing chills down his spine and causing his feet to occasionally slide as he moves. Despite this, he swings by trees, hurdles over logs, splash though streams, moving at an unbelievable pace, but it doesn't help at all. He hears a loud rattle followed by a gut churning scream. He shivers at the sound and quickens himself as best he could, knowing full well that he is already too late. He burst through a foliage of bushes and comes to a stop.

A broken body rests at his feet, one that he recognized instantly. It is a Ghost, or what's left of him. From his leg already up to his chest, the soldier had literally burst apart from the firepower of a machine gun. Blood oozes out of every hole while the man stares up into the dark skies, his eyes still wide open, still full of pain and darkness.

Damon's throat clogs up as he whispers one word, "Swans."

Suddenly the Earth rumble as dirt, trees and leaves flies into the air as if mud filled geysers have suddenly populated the area. Out of instinct, Damon ducks down low and curl into a ball as he tries to be still and avoid the deadly barrage. A moment later, the explosions cease and Damon uncurls as he stands and glances around.

Blacken craters surrounds him and his fallen friend, but something to his right catches his attention. A Ameli LMG that is twisted and bent beyond repair, douse in blood.

The weapon that belonged to Falkner; the only part of him that wasn't blown to smithereens.

Tears slowly form in the Sergeant's eyes as he sits in the mud and rain, switching his gaze between his comrade's remains.

He hears foot falls sounding behind him and quickly turns to see who it is.

He was expecting an enemy combatant; instead a friendly is what he meets. One with kind eyes, a strong build and wearing the Ghost mask of Gordon. Said Ghost reaches down and offers Damon his hand, a gesture that is so familiar yet heart breaking. Damon knew what is going to happen next, he desperately tries to stand and push Gordon out of danger, but he knew it's a lost cause.

He hears the two loud cracks like wood breaking, one right after the other. A minute later, two holes appear on Gordon's chest while blood sprays out of his back. The Ghost falls to the ground, already heaving in heavy breaths of pain.

Damon searches the trees, looking for the sniper, but with the falling rain and dark forest, he's lucky to see anything at all. Forcing himself to move pass the numbing heartache, he rises to his knees and looks at Gordon. He has already stopped inhaling, his lungs filled with his own life giving liquid.

The lone Ghost looks around at his fallen team members, covers his face, and starts to sob. The greatest men he ever knew, the most selfless, the bravest, his family, gone in a matter of minutes. Why him? Why is he alive? He has no wife, no kids, no nephews, no nothing, why did the men who had something to look forward to have to die while he lived?

He rocks back and forth, crying shamefully like a child, something that embarrass him, but at the same time something he couldn't stop. He hardly even notices that it stopped raining nor does he hear the soft patter that closes in on him.

The tears are still streaming when he feels something breathing on him, blowing warm breaths on his face that passes through his Ghost mask. Something wet lightly touches the top of head before making its way down to his neck. A nuzzling sensation takes place, causing him to slowly raise his head and looks around.

Surrounding him within a semicircle is a small pack of wolves, very familiar wolves. One is black and white, another is golden, the third is pure white and the last one is a reddish brown. They are all staring at him with grins and the kindnesses in their eyes are so bright that it actually touches Damon.

He catches movement on the floor and is startled by what he sees. The bodies of his two fallen Ghosts and Falkner's weapon are starting to twist and transform. Joints dislocate, spines stiffen and their faces begin to protrude as their forms collapses into themselves. The gun slowly disappears before a shadow takes its place and it too quivers as a alteration causes it to take shape. The clothes slowly shimmer, hair grows over the skin and before Damon's very eye they stand back up. However they are no longer men, they are on four legs, possess snouts and have tails that are swinging back and forth wildly. They are wolves.

They all start to buck, run and race around Damon in full circles, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do. The lone human couldn't help but laugh as he stands above them and rotates as he watches the wolves play all around him with a childish innocence, his old and new family alike. He then notice more shadows departing from the woods and joining the small group as they celebrate and share their affection for the human. He smiles broadly when he see the pups; Meadow, Devan, Max, Talia, and Ann, all of them giving him their most playful yips and barks. Soon it looks like the entire united pack has surrounded him and are showering him with love and affection in such large qualities that he never has experienced before.

Damon couldn't believe it, he was home.

"Hey," a light voice says as he feels his arm move, "wake up."

Damon groans and turns away from the voice. He is annoyed and grumpy; he couldn't help but feel resentment towards the person who had woken him. His dream was a nightmare, yet it changed drastically. It has been months since he last had such a powerful reverie, and for once, he thoroughly enjoyed. True it was different from the ones he usually had, but enjoyable nonetheless.

"Come on Sarge," the voice says again as he feels a finger poke his ribs, "come on, today's a big day."

"Five more minutes mother," he moans in a teasing voice. He lets out a yelp and jumps when he feels a knife hand dig into his kidneys.

"I'm not that old," Ash says with a bit of malice in her voice.

"Can't women take a joke without being offended?" he questions her as he leans against the wall, massaging his tormented organs.

"Can't men be a little more sensitive?" she questions back as she watches with amused eyes, arms cross.

"Touché" Damon responds as he slowly stretches his taught muscles, "how long till breakfast?"

"Who knows," responds Ash as she smiles at him, "thinking what I'm thinking?"

Damon grins back, "Loser eats the winner's breakfast."

"Agreed," Ash says.

They both lower themselves to the floor, places their arms out on either side of their bodies, stiffen their backs, place out their feet and start performing push-ups.

Working almost mechanically, they lower their bodies to the floor before rising back up in complete synchronization. They reach ten, then fifteen, and finally thirty, hardly breaking a sweat.

"So how was your weekend?" Damon questions while in the midst of pushing himself up.

"Oh the usual," she replies, "had a long chat with mother about finding a boy, you?"

"I spent it talking to my psychologist," Damon answers.

"Really? What did you talk about?" she questions next.

"…you don't want to know," Damon finally says.

"…ok…" Ash nods and an awkward silence fill the cell. The quietness lasts long enough for them to complete an additional twenty pushes before Damon releases a sigh.

"We talked about distinguishing fantasies from reality," Damon admits.

"Well that's good," Ash comments, "sounds like something everyone should be taking nowadays."

Damon grunts and shakes his head.

"So did you learn anything new?" she inquires with curiosity in her tone.

"I learned that these quacks are crazier than their patients," he answers, "he suggest I get out more and not use my method of killing Feds as a kind of prescription."

Ash chuckles at this, "Well we've got to give you points for originality, I don't think anyone used that kind of medication before."

"Senior might have," Damon says.

"I wouldn't say he is the best of role models," Ash puts in.

"He's the only one that could qualify."

She smirks at this, "True."

They continue their workout in silence until Damon asks, "What do you think of Price?"

"He's a hands down nut case," Ash replies instantly, "even if half the things we heard were true, I would still think he is crazy, he practically admitted it yesterday."

Damon nods as he ponders their turn of conversation, "What if he's right?"

"About what?"

Damon pauses in his push up and looks at Ash. Feeling his gaze on her, she stops and locks eyes with him.

"What if we do have things mixed up?" he questions, "what if the heroes we celebrate about today are actually the villains?"

She is silent before stating; "I'm sure they did it for the right reasons, you know the whole weight of one man for hundreds…" she trails off after this.

They settle into sitting on their knees as Damon asks, "and if not? If they really are the evil people Price claims they were?"

Here she sighs, shakes her head and says, "Then God help us."

After the island wide walk in which only twelve or fourteen people perished, Damon and Ash makes their way to the table where they met Price the day before and sits down. Metalizing from the crowd like a specter, John Price emerges, looking the same as he did yesterday and sits opposite of the two Ghosts.

"Right," he starts off, "so where were we?"

The two Americans exchanges concerned expressions before Ash answers, "I think we were planning our escape…"

Price nods his head, "Right, right, that's it," he looks over his shoulder and studies the room, as if to make sure no one is watching. The Ghosts copy the action, but sees that there is no one watching, as far as they know.

Price nods to himself before looking at Damon and points a finger at him, "alright, you."

"Me?" Damon asks in mild surprise.

"No, the other chap behind you, of course I'm talking to you git," Price leans towards the Ghost, keeps a hard eye on him before glancing to his left, "remember old bruiser from yesterday?"

Damon frowns as he wonders where this is going, but he looks in the same direction Price is looking. Sure enough, the king kong of the prison is sitting two tables away, surrounded by a small group of men who looks just as tough and just as dumb as "Bruiser."

"Yes…" Damon answers cautiously.

"Good," Price says, "here's what I need you to do," he leans closer to Damon and whispers into his ear.

The Ghost's eyes widen and he leans away and stares at Price, "Are you kidding me!" he demands.

Price leans back and shrugs, "that's the plan Sergeant, unless you have another one."

"What is it?" Ash as she looks between the two men, trying to see what it is they are speaking of.

"Why him?" Damon questions as he looks at Bruiser with a nervousness in his eyes.

"See all his girlfriends surrounding him?" Price questions as he points out the group.

"Yeah, the ones with the huge arms?" Damon asks.

"Well once they see Bruiser in trouble, then they'll step in," Price explains, "someone is bound to trip or hit the back of another fella, causing a chain reaction and by then it'll truly be a one for all."

Ash pieces together what is they are saying and is the next to ask, "Is that really a good idea? And how on earth will that help in getting us out of here?"

"Just trust me lass," Price reassures her, "I've had years of planning this out."

"That's reassuring," Damon mummers before speaking more audibly, "what about the guards? Won't they kill us?"

"Right," Price nods as if he just remembered, "keep your head high during the opening mash up, but duck down right after so they won't kill you," he pauses to look between them, "keep this in mind, cause I need both of you alive in order for us to get out, understood?"

There is no doubt in Damon's mind now, Price is insane. He thinks his options through, on one hand they can stay in here until they can think of a better plan, but that would mean they would miss their twenty four hour window. Or did they already miss it? The Sarge tries to think, but they are running low on stamina from the lack of food and water and the longer they stay here the more likely they'll be discovered for being Special Forces operators and be killed.

The one and only real option would be for them to follow Price's plan, it's risky and dangerous, but he spent a lot of time here and probably been planning for this day. Damon finally sighs in defeat, truth be told, they really has nothing to lose.

He cast a baleful look towards the giant in question before looking to the other man, "so just walks up to him and do it?"

"Yes, with your head held high so the guards will see and know it's you," advises Price.

Damon slowly shakes his head before standing and glances at Ash before muttering to her, "don't let them write he died doing something stupid on my tombstone."

Again this is a total work of fiction, I hope no one takes offense and if so I'm sorry. I hoped you enjoyed reading.