Chapter Text
Smoke chokes Farah's lungs as she heaves for breath.
The heavy, shaky, but alive body she carried in her arms pressed against her chest, small arms wrapped around her neck.
Sprinting as fast as she could as the crumbling hospital walls collapsed around her
She heard Alex’s voice distantly shout for her, “Farah!” and then in her blur of vision she saw a gloved hand reach forwards from the blinding light of the exit she was running so fast to get to before she was crushed.
Hands wrapped around her shoulders and pulling her swiftly out of the hospital building, she blinks quickly, feeling the burn of the sun against her skin, then the relieved sobs of a woman echo in the distance
Farah looked down at the small girl she held in her arms; the child was blinking up at Farah as the girl’s mother rushed forward, sweeping the girl out of Farah’s arms with rushed thank yous and blessings in Arabic.
Farah could only nod at the woman as Alex stepped to her side, looking back at the destroyed hospital. “The attacks are getting worse,” she muttered, wincing quietly as she stood, her body aching.
The exterior of the building crumbled inwards with a loud crash. That the hospital was one of the last few still standing in Urzikstan. One of the few still safe too.
She heard Alex hum affirmatively next to her. These attacks were getting more frequent and more fatal every time they happened.
A bombing here, a missile attack there. It was all too quick for Farah and her people to keep up. Fighting off General Barkov was draining, but this…
this over looming threat that Makarov and his Lonnie group held was far, far too much of a behemoth for her and her people alone to fend off.
She knew that, and Farah also knew that the man standing next to him knew that as well, so she couldn't help the sigh of relief that she let out when the American CIA agent leaned down and whispered in her ear.
“Laswell’s made contact. She’s sending support. We're expecting a debrief in a few days.” Farah turned to look at the man beside her; Alexa's face had grown a healthy stubble in the past ten months. She shakes her head, turning to look at the unarmed civilians littered around the now collapsed hospital. “We can worry about that later. Now, we focus on our people,” she says, finally nodding at some onlooking soldiers who immediately rush to filter the civilians into trucks for transport to a safer sector.
“Yes, ma’am.” Alex nods sharply before turning to walk away. Farah glanced back at the destroyed hospital. She prayed silently that they would win whatever war Makarov was fighting against them. She also prayed that her allies across the planet were safe, as well as safe as soldiers could be.
-
The warehouse was filled with damp air. The smell of rain and the incessant sound of rain pounding against the roof added to the helplessness that suffocated all the soldiers seated within it.
“Urzikstan has been attacked by drone strikes and bombing. Makarov targeted hospitals and other civilian areas.” Laswell's voice echoed through the facility as the members of 141 watched intensely as the projected screen in front of them shifted, portraying photos of the wreckage.
“Fucking hell.” Gaz hissed, Ghost gave a grunt in agreement, and Price only sighed.
Soap was absent from the meeting, making his slow recovery in the hospital. The explosion had fucked with his body in more than one way. His hearing and coordination had all been sizzled along with the broken bones and bruising from the debris. But Soap was a soldier, and hopefully in the following weeks he would pass the necessary tests to get him cleared back for field duty, but until then, 141 was cut one member short.
“In other news we finally found what Bell and Konni stole from that facility. And why the soldiers went berserk and attacked Gaz during the data extraction mission. Adler?” Laswell said, turning her head to look at the scared Cold War veteran.
Who stood up swiftly from his seat and sauntered towards the computer connected to the projector. As he spoke, images flicked and changed on the projector screen.
“The files on that computer were supposed to contain classified files about a mind control prototype from the Cold War. Instead, it started playing what seemed like the activation codes for a sleeper agent network that were implemented onto the files so that when Sergeant Garrick went to extract the files, instead of the codes, the sleeper agent network activated. Which, long story short, means that Makarov and Bell, by extension, have access to the entire sleep agent network that the CIA has established over the past few years.”
“So they have a CIA-made secret army?” Ghost stated bluntly, his eyes not moving from the projector screen that now showed the scene where Gaz had been attacked by the sleeper agents, the security camera footage paused just as the marine's shoulders slumped.
From the angle of the camera, they could see his face; they could see the vacant, blank look in the marine's eyes. It made Ghost’s stomach clench.
Ghost had seen some shit. Fuck, he had some fucked-up shit done to him. But this was different. Ghost thought back to the way Bell had screamed when Adler and the MI6 agent had held down the man and shoved a needle in his eye.
The raw pain in his voice, the sheer terror. It almost made Ghost cringe. Almost.
“Yes,” was Adler's sharp answer to Ghosts’ previous question, and the lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the CIA officer. Adler was a strange man.
The confident way he held himself; he was well built for a man of his age, the greying streaks of his hair one of the only indicators of his age. But there was something dark lurking in Adler's eyes. Something that made Ghost’s senses feel like they were walking a tightrope.
“Fucking hell.” Gaz cursed, his eyes also glued to the screen. His face paled slightly; it had been his mission that had gone out the window, but now as Gaz sat and looked at the security footage, he knew what he did now. He could only feel dread pooling in his stomach.
Makarov now had a secret CIA-made army that he could activate at any time to do god knows what. A similar dread shifted through the room, and Adler took that as a sign to clear his throat and continue.
“But we have a chance to get it back, or at least a chance to find out what Makarov plans to use it for.” He paused, tapping quickly at the computer. The paused camera footage changed to a world map that quickly zoomed in on one place. Mexico, before further zeroing in on a specific city along Mexico's border.
“Reports say that Bell is headed to Las Almas, Mexico, to speak to el sin nombre about an arms deal. The word is that a significant security force is travelling with him. This is capture, absolutely no kill.” Price leaned forward at that, a calculating glaze falling over his eyes, the gears running in his mind.
But before he could speak up to formulate a plan, Lasswell also spoke up. "I've also contacted Farah and her forces; they’ve come under heavy fire from Konni forces in the past few months.
They need support; otherwise, Makarov will run rampant through Urzikstan. General Shepard has offered up a shadow company as support, but...” The unspoken words shifted through the room.
Price raised an eyebrow at Laswell, and the lieutenant and sergeant seemed to share his reaction.
Shadow Company and Shepard weren't exactly on the best terms right now, especially not after their dirty laundry was dumped out to the public. But they also knew that Makarov was a bigger fish to catch and that personal grievances could be dealt with after he was captured again or, better yet, dead.
Price shook himself. “I’ll go support Farah and her forces, Ghost. You and Garrick go to Las Almas and make contact with Alejandro and his forces. I doubt they’ll miss out on a chance to strike at Valeria again,” he said sharply, the plan coming together, but then the captain paused, giving the elder CIA officer a quick glance.
Price knew that his plane was sound; Ghost and Gaz both have already been to Las Almas; they know the landscape, and they have allies there.
Price himself was close with Farah and her people. Price's plan made sense, and he knew it, but Price also knew that some officers didn't like it when their soldiers made decisions without them.
Price had chewed out his fair share of officers, and he was ready to do it again, but Adler merely nodded in support of Price's plan, leaving the Brit stunned for a second before everyone in the room leapt up to get to their transports.
As Price turned to leave, he flicked a glance back at Adler, who stood with his back turned to the captain, Adler’s fingers flying over the computer's keyboard.
But Price quickly spotted a certain skull-masked lieutenant who was also looking at the senior CIA officer with suspicion.
They shared a look, and the silent message that passed through them was clear.
Something was very, very strange about their new supervising officer.
-
The warm sun beat down onto the tarmac as the dry air of Mexico greeted Bell and Naga as they descended the ramp of the plane that Vladimir had ‘loaned’ Bell.
The thought was still unbelievable that his Volodya owned not one but several planes that he could loan out willingly, and thinking back to the expression on Naga's face when Bell asked him to accompany them said it all.
Naga, of course, had access to luxuries because of his status as a warlord. But even he didn't just have a plane he could use whenever he wanted.
The cartel-controlled flight field wasn't much. But Bell wasn't judging. Naga, however, let out a slow whistle as he caught sight of the armored army vehicles that lined the area just beyond the tarmac.
El sin Nombre wasn't just a warlord; she had control throughout the Mexican army, which is why they were able to land in a Mexican army base without interference.
They both watched as a light brown-skinned woman with dark hair stepped forward. She was dressed in a simple dark grey sleeveless top that revealed the artwork of tattoos that danced along her arms.
She wore a white bandana around her neck and a gold chain that dangled below it; cream-brown cargo pants made the leather holster with the silver gun strapped within it stand out even more.
“Welcome to Las Almas,” she said simply, approaching Bell and Naga confidently. Two tall, stocky males followed behind her, large rifles held loosely in their hands. Each of them wore a skull mask that reminded Bell of the lieutenant in 141, but he shoved the thought down and simply nodded his head in greeting at the woman.
“El sin nombre,” he greeted and watched as the woman froze, her shoulders stiffening before she relaxed back into her confident stance.
They were negotiators in her territory; even if they were connected to a terrorist, they were still on her land. If they tried to act in any way negatively towards her, Bell knew that El Sin Nombre and her people would not be very forgiving.
But the fact that Naga was a warlord that almost had complete control over the Golden Triangle and Bell was closely affiliated with a terrorist might make her pause before doing anything irrational.
The Golden Triangle is a mountainous region that runs through northern Laos and into surrounding countries; it's one of the largest opium deposits in the world, and Naga had been trying to get a monopoly on it since the start of his rise into becoming a warlord.
Now Bell could use that card to convince El Sin Nombre to help them funnel weaponry across the Mexican border into America.
“You must be Bell,” she said simply, eyeing him up and down, her eyes narrowed in suspicion and curiosity. Her gaze flicked to Naga, and she raised an eyebrow.
“And you, what’s your name?” she questioned, and the two guards behind her straightened up and gripped their weapons tighter. Bell swore he saw a little quirk in Naga's mask where his mouth was, indicating a smile.
“Kapano Vang, but everyone calls me Naga.” The sharpness in his tone made El Sin Nombre pause, her eyes widening in recognition.
This is one of the only times that Bell wouldn’t smack the man across the head for introducing himself; he had faint memories of them being chased through the streets of London during the Cold War when Naga was too drunk and had given the bouncer his actual name instead of the one on the fake ID.
That’s when Bell had learned that Naga’s reputation was, in fact, global.
He had no doubt the cartel leader in front of him knew about Naga's reputation but had never seen the warlord in person.
“Then you can call me Valeria.” The cartel leader replied, her voice sharp and direct.
Bell found himself nodding once more before the woman cleared her throat and directed them towards the line of armored vehicles, their transport to one of her many, many bases for further negotiations. So they could go into details.
-
The rough, rocky roads of Las Almas made the escort shudder and shake as they drove closer and closer to one of Valeria's bases; it was a small mansion tucked into one of the large rolling mountains that stood on the edge of Las Almas.
They arrived quickly, exiting the armored cars and following Valeria through the house until they came to a large, opulent dining room with a large table that had three chairs despite its immense length.
One of the chairs sat at the head of the table, and Bell could only assume that that seat was reserved for Valeria, and the two chairs seated on either side of the table were for him and Naga.
It was quite obvious that Valeria hadn't been expecting Naga to tag along because one of the chairs had been half haphazardly shoved into position while the other two looked like they had been there in preparation for the meeting.
Valeria stepped forward, taking her seat at the head of the table, her hands folded together as she rested them onto the table. Bell and Naga both step forward, taking their own seats, glancing at each other briefly.
The two guards that had been with Valeria when they had landed now stood at the doorway.
“What’s your offer?” Valeria asked, breaking the silence, and Bell smiled.
The negotiations had begun.