You can probably tell this already, but my original revamp of this story ends here. Again, if you'd like a more current version of this story, please check my page for the revamped TGTHM. Thank you!
Chapter 3
"Takedown"
Day 4 – 15:08:19
Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front
Task Force 141
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Mckinley opened her eyes and groaned. Weak patches of sunlight scoured through the trees lining the Brazilian street. The gentle sound of a city echoed from outside the car. A muscular, dark-skinned man donned in military uniform sat behind the wheel to her left; his eyes scanned the streets for any hostiles. He took no notice of her confused expression. Sighing, she glanced down at her body, checking to see if this was really happening. I recognize this setup. Takedown. It had to be. She, too, wore a thick military getup and had an ACR and an M1014 strapped to her back. She reached up to her head and found that her long, straight dark red hair was pulled up into a tight bun underneath a cameo cap. To protect her eyes, she was wearing a pair of black sunglasses with a single rim.
This cannot be happening.
I'm inside Modern Warfare 2?
All of a sudden, someone's voice came from the seat behind her. She spun around; her eyes wide with astonishment.
"Ghost, the plates are a match," came the distinguished British accent of Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish. The rough-looking-but-handsome man was talking on the radio to someone. His hair was dark brown, shaven to a stubby fo-hawk running down the length of his scalp. On top of a black t-shirt, he wore a bulletproof vest adorned with a multitude of small pockets. His faded baggy jeans and hard-soled shoes finished his intimidating look.
"Copy," said a voice from the radio. Mckinley tilted her head in bewilderment, noticing that the voice was tangled beneath a throaty, attractive British accent. Oh holy crap. It's GHOST.
"Um, excuse me?" she began tentatively, directing her inquiry towards MacTavish. But the man simply disregarded her with a flick of his hand, intent on listening to the radio and his comrade on the other end.
"Any sign of Rojas's right hand man?" Ghost continued, and Mckinley wondered how far away he was from her position. If she really had been transported inside the game, he was at the top of her list of people to meet. Ghost was helping her through the difficult patches of her parents' fighting, and she wanted to thank him.
MacTavish grimaced and peered out the front window. They were following a white van down the Rio de Janeiro streets, searching for someone. "Negative. They've stopped twice already—no sign of him."
"Excuse me?" Mckinley tried again. "Captain MacTavish?"
Finally, the man acknowledged her. "Yes, Queenie?"
Mckinley shot back in disgust. "Queenie?" Okay, I know every member of Task Force 141 has a nickname, but Queenie wasn't what I hoped mine to be.
MacTavish chuckled, flashing his pearly whites at her. "Sorry Private, I forgot you don't like us calling you that." He winked. "Just Queen, I remember."
Queen is better than Queenie. I'll take it.
"Right." She looked out her window, noticing that besides a few common civilians, the town was quiet. Then, it struck her that she'd completely forgot what the mission was. "Uh, Captain? Could you… um… reiterate on the situation for me? I must've been… zoned out when the mission was being assigned."
"Sure thing. We're here in Brazil to track down a man named Alejandro Rojas. He's an arms dealer for Makarov. We're here to find him and capture him." MacTavish pointed to the white van ahead of them. "Right now, the guys in that truck are leading us through the streets. We're trying to find an affiliate of Rojas's. He should lead us to the arms dealer himself." The man chuckled again, clutching a gun in his lap. "What, were you too busy checking Ghost out to listen to the mission?"
Mckinley turned beet red and used her glove to cover the redness. Wait, I was here before? I didn't just pop up out of nowhere? That's pretty strange. She noticed the smug look on MacTavish's face. And apparently I've already made a name for myself by ogling at Ghost. Great.
Before she could fire a retort at the captain to redeem herself, the white van pulled in front of an orange building on the corner and came to a halt.
"Wait, they've stopped again. Standby," murmured MacTavish into the radio. He ducked down low beneath the seat and motioned for her to get under the dashboard. Instead, Mckinley crouched, but squinted to see what was happening outside. She watched—along with the driver of her car—as two men came out of the van, holding weapons. They pointed the guns inside at the open door, and another man came out with his hands up.
"Got a positive ID!" MacTavish mumbled again. "Whoever these guys are, they're not happy to see him…"
Suddenly, the unarmed man became armed as he grabbed one of the guns and began firing rapidly at them. Instantly, the two men fell onto the sidewalk: dead.
Mckinley dove under the dashboard to avoid gunfire, while the man continued shooting at everything that moved. She could hear every shot, as loud as if it were right next to her ear.
"Ghost, we have a situation here!" MacTavish yelled from the backseat. "Get down! Get down!"
A random spot of gunfire ricocheted into the car window and hit the driver in the head. Blood splattered everywhere. Mckinley fought the urge to scream like a girl when she sat up; the inside of the car painted a deep, unholy red. The driver lay on the steering wheel, unmoving. Mckinley choked back another scream.
She really had no time to think or scream. The doors behind her opened and shut, and MacTavish called to her from outside of the car.
"He's getting away! Queen, let's go! Let's go!"
Trying to keep her balance, Mckinley kicked open the door and escaped the blood-ridden car before she tossed her cookies. Her head swirled with ghastly images of the blood, and the stink of death. Her ACR felt warm against her gloves, and she held it waist-high. Then, taking a quick breath, Mckinley raced after MacTavish, who was frantically waving at her to follow him.
The two of them raced on foot after Rojas's assistant. They jumped over the dead bodies of the men who'd first been shot nearby the van, and Mckinley didn't dare take a second glance. The reek of death already carried from where they lay.
MacTavish used his radio as they ran. "Ghost, our driver's dead! We're on foot! Meet us at the Hotel Rio and cut him off if you can!"
"Roger, I'm on my way!" Ghost replied.
They dashed past a heap of civilians scrambling to get off the road. Beyond them in the middle of an intersection lay piles and piles of destroyed cars, some even on fire. And again, dead lay strewn out everywhere. Pools of blood… smoke and ash… the screams of people… and the not so distant roar of gunfire. Rojas's man. He's nearby. He's still running from us!
As Mckinley and MacTavish rushed past the chaos in the street, Mckinley noticed a familiar figure running nearby the Hotel Rio, trying to catch up to them. He wasn't like the other soldiers she'd seen so far. Though he wore an almost-identical uniform, there was one difference. Over his face he wore a black ski mask with the face of a skeleton imprinted on the front…
Oh my God, it's HIM. It's GHOST.
He looked exactly how he was supposed to: tall and brawny, with sunglasses covering his eyes and the skull mask hiding his face. A pair of chunky headphones stretched across his head. She didn't get to see much else of him, because he was running alongside them, chasing down Rojas's man.
Ghost pointed at an alleyway nearby. "He went into the alley!"
"Non-lethal takedowns only!" MacTavish ordered firmly. "We need him alive!"
"Got it," Mckinley answered, readying her gun. She remembered this part. She had to shoot the guy's legs as he made a break for it.
It's just a video game. It's just a video game. It's just a video game.
The three of them dashed into the alleyway, and then turned a corner near some dumpsters. There he was, running wildly away from them. His feet pounded against the concrete in an arrhythmic fashion; his arms swung at his sides to produce more speed.
"Queen—take the shot! Go for his legs!" MacTavish commanded swiftly.
Mckinley knew what she had to do. She stopped running. Her hands lifted the gun up to her neck, bringing the scope to her right eye. She aimed down the sights and let the aiming tool meet the man's legs. Then, she pulled the trigger.
The man fell to the ground.
"He's down." MacTavish patted her on the shoulder quickly and then hurried towards the man. "Good job, Queen."
A few minutes later, Mckinley stood outside of a garage with two other members of Task Force 141. Inside the garage, MacTavish and Ghost were preparing to interrogate Rojas's man. The man was tied to a chair next to a shelf crowded with tools. He struggled and thrashed around, but to no avail. Standing next to him, Ghost prepared an interrogative device to get him to talk—possibly some sort of electric influencer. When he noticed Mckinley watching him, he dipped his head in recognition and returned back to prepping the device. By the garage entrance, MacTavish grabbed the handle of the metal door and began sliding it down.
"Queen, this is going to take some time. Go with Meat and Royce and check out the favela for any sign of Rojas—that's where this guy was headed." Then, with a nod, MacTavish shut the door.
Meat and Royce—the two men he'd referred to—looked at her.
"Ready, Queen?" Meat inquired.
She smiled and held her gun a bit higher. "Yeah. Let's get this done."
Royce pumped his fist. "Let's go."
After she'd fired the perfect shot to slow Rojas's man down, Mckinley had found out a bit more about the situation. Apparently she'd been involved with Task Force 141 for a long while now… and though she had no recollection of being brought inside the virtual world before, the members of the video game sure did. MacTavish was "her close friend" who'd vouched for her when she begged admittance to the army. She was the only female in one-forty-one, and was admired by everyone. And she was even up for a promotion to Private First Class.
Wow, I come here, hardly do anything, and I'm already respected and loved. Who would've guessed?
How she'd been in the game previously, she did not know. How they all knew her and were friends with her, she did not know. But she liked it a whole lot. She still had yet to communicate with Ghost alone, but had been receiving information about the strange relationship "Queen" and him were constructing. Evidently, Ghost and Queen had never been "friends," but united colleagues. Whatever that means. They'd fought long and hard alongside each other in the past, but never had chances to truly connect, according to what Royce had told her.
Meat, Royce and Mckinley left the front of the garage and continued up a small section of stairs leading to the favela. Beyond the stairs lay a hill clustered with poorly built houses and lean-tos. There was a chain-link fence lining the way into the favela, but parts of it had been ripped off or beaten down.
"Remember—there are civilians in the favela," Royce reminded them. "Watch your fire out there." As he spoke, a small group of citizens became visible in a tiny clearing in front of the favela. They were playing some sort of ball game together; their tongues whipped out Portuguese in fast conversation. Mckinley watched them, searching to see if any were armed.
"Meat, get these civvies outta here," Royce instructed calmly.
"Roger that." Meat began yelling out fluent Portuguese at the crowd, firing his gun in the air so as to not injure anyone. The civilians fled, screaming, and cleared the way into the housing. Mckinley hopped down into the clearing from the ledge and began searching for hostiles in the area.
"I don't see any—" she began, but was cut off as a barrage of gunfire landed at their feet and showered the three soldiers in dust and dirt. Coughing, Mckinley dove behind a beat-up clunker rusting in the clearing and took hold of her ACR. Dust nipped at her eyes and nose, but she ignored the irritating stings and fired the gun rapidly at a hostile on a nearby roof. Then at another. Then another. After a few take-downs, she reloaded as hastily as possible—becoming very confused as to how she knew how to reload the gun—and resumed firing. She'd lost track of where Royce and Meat were, but the sounds of their voices still resonated into her ears.
"Bravo Six, be advised—we've engaged enemy militia at the lower village!" Royce yelled through his radio.
"Are they answering?" Mckinley called out over the shots she fired. Ten hostiles down already, and more to fall soon. She assumed Royce's radio wasn't working, so she decided to offer hers. "I'll try my—"
"Queen! I'm with you! Watch the rooftops!" Royce turned a deaf ear to her question and emerged from out behind another rusty car. His gun shot unfalteringly down a row of buildings where many of the village's militia had taken cover. Mckinley followed right behind him, glancing behind her to see where Meat was. More rounds of gunfire beyond the first row of houses indicated that he was still alive and fighting—but for how long?
As she and Royce hurried to take out the opposing forces, proof that Royce's radio WAS working interrupted them. MacTavish's gruff voice came cleanly through the speakers.
"Royce, gimme a sitrep, over!"
"Lots of militia but no sign of Rojas over here, over!"
MacTavish didn't hesitate in the slightest. "Copy that! Keep searching! Let me know if you see him! Over!"
More shooting. Mckinley was trying to keep a count of how many hostiles she shot down, but she lost track as a small group of five or six men ganged up on her. The men were fast, but she was faster. Before any one of them could lodge a bullet in her body, they were on the ground. Her ACR surely did the trick.
As she took out a few more men, Royce screamed chilling words out into the air, turning her blood to ice. She stopped shooting, stopped moving, and stopped breathing for a second.
"MEAT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, MEAT IS DOWN!"
Aww crap. Poor guy…
Reloading as she ran, Mckinley tried to follow the sound of Royce's voice. She knew they'd work better together than split up in this maze of shacks. His voice seemed to be coming from everywhere, however, making it much more difficult. It also didn't help that the enemies yelled out random crap at her in Portuguese that she didn't understand.
"Royce?" she called, her voice peaking at a hoarse tone. "Where are you?"
Her response came from the radio. "QUEEN! I'M HIT!"
Swearing under her breath at her comrade's misfortune, she continued defending herself as she made her way through the lower village. Every so often, a member of the militia would leap from behind a house and try to hit her, but her powerful female instincts always knew when the surprise was coming, and she'd take him out before he even had the chance to pull the trigger.
Finally, after taking out nearly forty militia members, Mckinley hauled herself westward and out of the maze of houses to a long pathway. Graffiti lined the small concrete walls, proving that there was easily a bit of rebellious blood running through the residents.
She stopped walking for a moment and leaned against one of the buildings, trying to catch her breath. Her mind chugged away at a multitude of facts. So far, she hadn't been shot, but the fact that in the video game, you were given a few chances before it was "Game Over," haunted her. Would she be able to restart? Or would she die in the game?
MacTavish's voice interjected into her thoughts from her radio. "Queen, we've got Rojas' location! He's heading west along the upper levels of the favela."
"Good, you need me there to help?" She stood up from the wall and continued her way on the path and up another flight of concrete stairs. "'Cause I don't think I'm that far from the upper levels."
"Yes. We'll keep him from doubling back on our side," was his reply. "Keep going and cut him off up top!"
"Do I get any backup? Both Royce and Meat were killed back at in the lower village." She cringed when she said their names. Only minutes ago had the three of them been conversing plainly.
"There's no time for backup. You're gonna have to do this on your own. Good luck. Out."
She huffed. "Fine. Out."
Mckinley soon found herself between a row of dumpsters and a chain-link fence housing a mean-looking German shepherd. The dog leaped against the fence, barking and snarling at her. It gnawed its teeth on the wires and clawed at the metal. Mckinley sneered at the dog's violent act, recalling that her dog back home, Buddy, was one of the sweetest dogs you could ever meet. She hoped the dog wasn't beaten or hurt for it to behave so viciously.
A wild mass of Portuguese words flung at her from a nearby roof. She spun around and took the man out with one simple shot. Two other men appeared, and they went down quickly.
Suddenly, there came the wild barking of a dog. Another German shepherd rounded a corner and headed straight for her, practically foaming at the mouth and snapping its jaws. Though she hated killing animals, and in the game, she avoided it if she could, she aimed down the sight and shot the dog in the leg. It fell instantly, and was silent.
Oh God, I'm sorry she prayed. Please forgive me. It was going to kill me.
More men popped out of nowhere, firing at her and missing. One, two, three, four—she took them out precisely before any harm could be done. It was time to find her way to the top of the favela, and to stop Rojas before it was too late.
"Queen—this is their territory and they know it well! Keep an eye open for ambush positions and check your corners!"
"Got it, MacTavish!" She reloaded behind a wall and sprung out to take out two more of the men. Then, pulling a loose strand of dark red hair behind her ear, she charged up even more stairs, trying to find the way to the top.
Minutes later, she was up even higher into the favela. Every corner was like a death trap, but she managed to push her way past all of the bombardment and continue trekking. It had been a while until MacTavish had checked in on her, and she was getting a bit worried.
"Queen, we're taking heavy fire from the militia here but I'm still tracking Rojas!" MacTavish's voice was faint behind the loud explosions in the background.
Worried feelings gone.
"He's gone into a building! Ghost, do you see him?"
Oh… Ghost… yes, I get to hear him speak!
Ghost replied instantly. "Roger that, he's climbing onto a roof carrying a black duffel bag!" No reference to Mckinley at all, much to her dislike.
MacTavish chuckled. "Well that ought to slow him down! Queen, we're keeping him from doubling back! Keep moving to intercept! Go! Go!"
Mckinley ducked inside a small building and found a ladder to the roof. She crawled up with her gun in her hand and abruptly received incoming fire about her head.
"Crap!" she yelled angrily, glancing frenziedly around for any form of cover from the guns. "Stupid roof has no COVER!"
"Queen!" Oh my God. Is that GHOST? "Don't let the militia pin you down for too long! Use your flashbangs on them!"
Adrenaline seeped into her veins to no end. A powerful surge of energy skated down her spine and to each of her limbs. Her glove tightened around the ACR's handle. Her eyes glowed with determined fire.
"Thanks for the tip, Ghost!" Mckinley jogged across the rooftops, scanning the area for a way to access the taller houses' roofs. "I'm moving as fast as I can! Rojas won't be running for long!"
"I've lost sight of him again!" MacTavish exclaimed furiously. "Ghost, talk to me!"
The radio chatter was giving away her position and alerting nearby militia of her location. They were popping up like daisies* in her way. She lowered the volume on the radio a smidge and pounded up another flight of stairs.
(* Anyone recognize this line? I borrowed it from Mulan... well, Mushu, actually, when he's talking about the Huns. "They popped out of the snow... LIKE DAISES!")
"I'm onto him!" Ghost proclaimed. "He's trying to double back through the alleys below!"
Stairs, stairs, and more stairs. Mckinley took a momentary breather before attacking another flight, and took the break to reload both her weapons. Her M1014 had become briefly handy when the ACR needed a new clip. Instead of reloading and being shot by a hostile earlier, she'd snagged the M1014 from her back and pounded the living daylights out of the enemy. Now, she put her hands against the wall and exhaled as calmly as possible.
Though Ghost's voice was rather attractive, it had randomly sounded out of her radio for the past couple minutes or so, and was getting annoying.
"I've got a visual on Rojas! He's cutting through the market!"
And, of course, MacTavish had to answer in the exact same, ear-piercing tone.
"Roger that! I'll head for the rooftops and try to cut him off on the right! He's going to have no choice but to head west!"
"Awesome," she muttered to herself. "Straight towards me."
She decided on using the M1014 for a while. After all, she was almost to the top of the favela. The constant running, gunfire and obnoxious yelling would end soon.
"I'm taking a lot of fire from the militia! I don't think I can track him through the market! I'm going to have to find another way around!"
Ghost… always being the honest one.
More stairs and more hostiles brought her to an even higher portion of the favela. If she glanced to the east, she could see the city that they'd come from. It seemed so far away…
Suddenly, as she was glancing quickly out at the city, a wild shot from a man on a roof hit her in the arm. Mckinley didn't DARE drop her gun, but she did find shelter behind a crumbling wall for a moment to compose herself and assess the damage. Thankfully, it was her left arm that was pouring blood, not her good arm. She could still raise and lower it, but it hurt like hell to do so.
"Be advised, I'm about a half a klick east of the market." Ghost seemed very rushed as he spoke. "I can see Rojas running across the rooftops on my right side!"
Cue MacTavish's reply in a really loud voice.
"Roger that! Queen! We're corralling him closer to your side of the hill! Keep an eye open for Rojas! He's still making his way across the rooftops!"
As his words left the radio's speaker, Mckinley spotted a lone man dashing as fast as he possibly could along the roofs.
"I see him!"
"Good, Queen! Keep him in your sights! Don't shoot him! I need him unharmed!"
Minutes later, she was jogging up a narrow flight of stairs to the very top of the favela. She heard Ghost yell.
"He's gonna get away!" he exclaimed in a panic.
Mckinley managed her way into a small clearing where a tall building stood proudly. An old destroyed car sat at its base. With a relief, she spotted Ghost charging towards the building.
Rojas ran on the ledge of the building, appearing as if he was about to escape. But suddenly, a burly man burst from one of the windows and tackled Rojas in midair.
"No, he's not." MacTavish answered.
MacTavish and the captured Rojas landed flat on top of the wrecked car, smashing the windows and caving in its roof. He whipped out his small pistol and aimed it firmly at Rojas. Ghost and Mckinley circled the car, keeping their sights locked on the enemy.
FINALLY!
"Frontrunner, this is Bravo Six," MacTavish said into his radio. "We've got the package. I repeat, we have got the package."
As MacTavish spoke to 'Frontrunner,' Ghost began chattering to someone else. No one seemed to notice that her left arm was covered in red.
"Command, ready for dustoff. Send the chopper. Coordinates to fol—" He paused in mid-sentence. "Bollocks!" he exclaimed angrily. "The skies are clear! Send the chopper now." No answer. He let out an aggravated sigh. "Command's got their head up their arse. We're on our own."
His sunglasses lifted from his gun to Mckinley.
"… Queen, are you alright?"
"What?" MacTavish kept his gun against Rojas' forehead, but he looked up to see what Ghost was talking about. "You get shot?" MacTavish asked. She nodded. "Ghost, do you have any medical supplies with you?"
Ghost hurried to Mckinley's side and helped her sit down on the fading green grass. She wanted to smile at how close she was to him, but she didn't. From a pouch on his belt, he pulled out a long stream of gauze and began wrapping her wound in it. As he neared her, she saw through his sunglasses… his eyes, focused and steady. Blue. Pale blue. A cautious blue shade. From behind his skull mask, she could not see if he was smiling or frowning, but his pale blue eyes revealed that he was slightly tense.
"When did this happen?" he asked, his voice steady and composed.
"Earlier. While I headed up the hill to the top." She tried covering her face so as not to reveal the redness surging into her cheeks.
"Why didn't you say anything through the radio?" MacTavish inquired. "That you were shot?"
"I didn't want to worry either of you when you were trying to capture dickhead here." She cringed and clutched her arm. "I've… never been shot before… it fricken' hurts, man."
"Don't worry, we'll stop the bleeding. A medic is on his way to our position right now." Ghost used the gauze to sop up the rest of the blood dripping down her arm. Mckinley crinkled her nose in disgust at the smell. It reminded her of rusty pennies.
From nearby, four Task Force 141 members ran over to them. One shoved handcuffs onto Rojas's wrists; another rushed to Queen's side and promptly started tending to her wound. MacTavish stood from the car, brushing at his jeans, and strolled over to Ghost. The two of them began having a heated discussion. Mckinley was watching the medic wrap her arm for a minute, but became distracted by the outraged expression locked on MacTavish's face.
"What's the problem, Captain?" she asked, wincing when the medic accidentally touched her wound. "Something the matter?"
"It appears that our aircrafts have been barred from entering the Brazil airspace because of the damage we caused chasing after 'im." MacTavish motions to Rojas, who's being led away by two men. "I've called for some outside help, however. From an old friend."
"And what about Rojas?"
"He'll remain here to be interrogated, along with his assistant." MacTavish ran a hand over his stubby fo-hawk and then massaged his temples. "C'mon and get up, Queenie. We need to get a move on. The entire city's militia is still after us. We're sitting ducks if we stay here any longer."
Mckinley grumbled inwardly about him calling her "Queenie" again. She thanked the medic, who told her his nickname was Chemo, and stood up from the ground. Something itched at her neck, and she realized that her once tight bun had gotten loose. Irritating strands dangled from the back of her scalp. She swore and yanked the cap from her head to readjust the bun.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Ghost watching her. MacTavish noticed, also, and slapped Ghost's shoulder playfully. He beamed like a mischievous child.
"Would ya stop checking the poor girl out, already?" MacTavish joked. "Seriously, Ghost. She ain't on display."
Much to her surprise, Mckinley began to laugh. She lowered her face and slammed her palm over her mouth to muffle the sounds. MacTavish, Chemo, and the other soldier—Rocket—all echoed her laughs as well, all finding the captain's remark hysterical. And from behind his mask, Mckinley sensed a smile growing steadily on Ghost's lips, proving he really did have a good sense of humor behind his ghostly mask