#Rudy Parra x nurse!Reader

[imaginedreamwrite]

Happier Than Ever

Part 4: Fate Thou Art Twisted

“My base is your base.” The words were reminiscent of what Colonel Vargas had said before, when Ghost mentioned Commander Graves of the Shadows assisting in finding Hassan.

The join task force would hunt Hassan down in the hills he was hiding in, leaving no single crevice in that hideout uncovered. There was no probability of failing, this mission had to be a success, and whatever missiles Hassan had, needed to be found.

With the weight of more than just American lives on the line, the task given by General Shepherd and Laswell couldn’t afford any small measure of force. There would have to be an unseemly pressure put on Hassan and the hills he was hiding in.

“You good for this?” Soap had questioned you again, as if you had the opportunity to back down, as if you could change your mind and head back to the US. “You’re heading into gunfire.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Your heart was racing, and dread had settled in your stomach. It was your 4th mission with Ghost & Soap, and you’d yet to gather or steel your nerves. Not like they had, and not how you particularly should have.

You followed Soap & Ghost into the armoury, standing nearby as they grabbed ammunition and assault rifles, checking the weapons over. There was no shortage of artillery here, heavy and handheld weapons to kill or disarm, another necessary adage to the mission.

While you were a medic, and you had completed your nursing degree, you weren’t necessarily a soldier. You had gone through your 6 weeks basic training, you had learned to survive in a war zone, as best as Alex Keller could teach you.

You had gone through your crash courses, you had gone through as much training to solidify your skills as a combat medic. Pushing yourself through every necessary test to get your rank as private, you hadn’t faltered.

You completed your training, but you were not like Soap & Ghost. You wanted to put your focus on keeping them alive, on keeping them breathing.

“Take the damn gun.” A smaller rifle was handed to you, an order from Ghost.

As your CO, he had been responsible for yourself and Soap, and any fatalities were purely his responsibility. “And keep your head on straight.”

“An XM7,” Soap had spoken over Ghost, tapping the barrel of the gun with his fingers, twice, and then looked over his shoulder, “sergeant Parra is taking you to the med-bay. Get whatever supplies you need, we leave in 10.”

He already had his gear on, with the Kevlar bulletproof vest that bared the flag of his country, his rank, and the emblem belonging to Los Vaqueros. His vest was similar to Ghost & Soap’s, the indicators that would lead anyone to know that they were soldiers.

Unlike the soldiers' bulletproof vests, your tactical vest was emboldened with MEDIC, in English, in bright white letters at the front, with MÉDICO, in Spanish, below.

As on the front, there were the same distinguishing patches on the back of your vest, accompanied by a caduceus, a snake, and a pair of wings to symbolize your status as a healer rather than a fighter. A commonality among the three of you was the flag from your countries, a patch that identified just how international this mission was.

“Leave in ten.” You nodded your head, acknowledging the order Ghost had given you, and then you stepped toward Sergeant Major Parra.

He was waiting for you, and had reviewed you once, before he directed his attention behind him with a nod of his head.

When you first approached, you noticed his hands were held behind his back, though when he began walking with you, they dropped to his sides. As you walked with relative silence between you, you glanced over at him, rather of the identifying soulmate mark on his wrists.

One, you noted, was already emboldened and lined with black. One of the phrases was securely etched into his skin, as usual with marks like that, meaning he had found one; however, there was another out there.

You diverted your attention once you had reached the doors of the med-bay. The small clinic was dark upon your approach, something that had been rectified when you’d stepped inside. The automatic lights turned on, and you were greeted with shelves upon shelves of medical equipment.

“Take what you need.” Rudy Parra had leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you, waiting for you to gather some things.

“Yes sir.” You stepped toward one shelf, looking over the different kinds of bandages and gauze there was, and then further to the threads for stitching.

You grabbed what supplies you hadn’t already had, mostly newer gauze and bandages, some cold compresses and extra thread, before you took a side-eye toward the narcan. You reached for the glass vial, looking over the label before you closed your fingers around the bottle and shoved it into your bag.

“You don’t seem like the type to be in a fight like this,” Rudy’s voice had caught you off guard, and you’d looked over your shoulder toward him.

“I’ve got more interest in being a medic, or combat nurse, than I do physically being caught in gunfire. But… I’ve always wanted to be in medicine, I’ve always wanted to be a nurse.” You moved down the shelves and then hummed under your breath.

“Looking for something?” His accent was light, his voice was relatively calm as he stepped further into the med-bay, closer to you.

“Necesito un frasco de morfina.” It was just natural for you to ask in Spanish, given that he was a native-born Spanish speaker, and you’d never questioned yourself until Rudy looked at it with furrowed brows.

“Hablas español?” He reached above you, grabbing a few glass vials of the drug you were looking for, handing them down to you.

“Yeah, I’m… I wouldn’t say I’d be as fluent as someone who was born in Mexico, but I learned Spanish from the time I was 7 to 18.” You thanked him and placed the vials into your bag, feeling at odds with yourself for letting your second language slip.

“Es necesario en los Estados Unidos, no?” He didn’t question why you weren’t forthright with your ability to speak Spanish, rather, he’d questioned you about something related.

“The United States has a lot of Spanish speakers in the country. I don’t know if it's mandatory to learn it in school in every district, county or state, but in my school it was.” You took another look around the med-bay, double-checking your supplies and what you’d taken, before you zipped the top.

“Tu español es muy bueno.” Rudy held the door open for you when you finished.

“Gracias.” You stepped by him as he allowed you to step out first. It was while you were stepping by him that you tilted your head, eyeing the edges of his second soulmate mark.

The words were lined with an edge faint black, as if he had come in proximity to his soulmate, but the words themselves weren’t spoken. They were in Spanish, and while you had said the words in your head, you whispered them under your breath.

“Todo puede ser lanzado al aire al menos una vez?” You whispered faintly under your breath, almost entirely incomprehensible.

You glanced toward the mark again and then looked away, your eyes drawn toward Soap & Ghost as they stood by the fleet of humvee’s. They were geared up, as usual, bearing weapons that were far more formidable than your own, even though yours had the same potential to maim and kill.

“PT!” Soap called your rank from across the open space, directing you toward a series of vehicles parked and waiting. “Move your ass!”

“Yes sir!” You walked directly to your CO’s, your gun by your side and ammo stashed in the pockets of your tactical vest.

There was a certain amount of tension in the base that was directly tied to the mission to find Hassan. It was a tension that overshadowed any previous anxiety you had, with the knowledge that this could be someone’s last day breathing.

This could be your last day breathing.

“Get your head screwed on right, lass. This could get ugly.” Upon approaching Soap, he motioned with a single nod to get into the vehicle beside Ghost, the position open for you.

You’d tossed your bag to the floor of the humvee and climbed inside, taking your place beside Ghost, while another soldier had taken his place to the right of you.

Ten minutes had been enough time for you to grab what you needed, to secure necessary and life-saving tools to keep them safe. It was also enough time for you to reveal yourself as someone who could not only understand Spanish but speak it fluently enough to carry a conversation.

You hadn’t been aware of Soap or Ghost wanting you to keep your ability to speak Spanish a secret forever. Nevertheless, there was a certain expectation that you’d act as their translator, and it was impossible to do so without someone, at some point, knowing you were bilingual.

“You good, kid?” Soap turned in the front passenger seat, looking back at you as Colonel Vargas drove. “You ready for this?”

“You’re three years older than me, if you call me kid, can I call you senile?” Your back and forth with Soap was ordinary for the two of you.

It was partially due to his boyish charm that never faded, and your relationship that was like brother and sister. You were friends, but it also felt like you were family.

Your comment drew a cold response from Ghost, a side-eye that you had grown used to when in his company. At this point, you hadn’t even known if he was aware of what he was doing, or if it was some natural reaction to the people around him.

However, if Ghost had given you a dirty look, then Soap was almost gleeful about the comment.

He had laughed, as he usually did, and shook his head, flipping you off over his shoulder. He was eased, far more than you were, yet not as calculated as Ghost was at the moment. He was the neutral point between the two of you, the balance between your anxiety laced anticipation and Ghost’s cold composure.

The drive away from the compound and base was quick. The trip toward the hills outside the city, that had been overrun by the Cartel and had been the hiding place of Hassan, had taken less than twenty minutes. The overhanging cliff side and rolling hills had come upon you, with a single road in and out of the encompassing stronghold.

As the vehicles had come to a stop, Colonel Vargas voice came through the earpiece in your right ear, the order firm. “Team leaders circle up on me. Weapons hot Vaqueros. Let’s move.”

You had followed Ghost out of the humvee, your medical bag and supplied thrown across your shoulder to drape on your hip. The XM7 rifle was heavier than you anticipated now that you were on the cusp of the first assault to find Hassan.

“You’re with me, private.” Ghost addressed with his usual calculated and neutral tone, an order that you couldn’t disregard.

You regarded his order with a nod of your head, and adjusted your grip on your rifle. You’d been placed here as a medic and your job was to keep them alive, you had the tools and the training to save their lives to the best of your ability in the field.

You had 6 weeks of basic training, you had been taught how to handle weapons. Alex Keller had taught you everything he could in six weeks to prepare yourself for missions like this. It was always a possibility that you would have to lean more into the military training rather than medical, and this was one of the moments you had been trained for.

Regardless of whether you wanted to classify yourself as a soldier or not, you were going to have to defend yourself if someone had come upon you without being stopped by the soldiers that had come before you.

“Where are they holding Hassan?” Soap approached Alejandro and Rudy, and almost immediately got an answer.

“White two-story building. Back of town.” Alejandro raised his hand, directing Soap’s attention to the village tucked behind 7 foot white sun-stained walls.

With the direction given, the soldiers had begun to move, their weapons raised and their guards up. They approached the first gate that kept the village contained, a thick wooden double set of doors that had remained barricaded.

“Todos los vencedores en espera.” Alejandro had spoken into the comm system, his voice echoing in your head as you approached the last soldier, hanging behind like you had usually done.

“Tres, dos, uno...ejecutar.... ejecutar!” The order was given, and the doors had been kicked open, the soldiers pouring into the compound.

A sense of resolve had taken over every sense you had, and your instincts lead you. You tuned out the world, centred your mind, and followed Ghost and Soap as they stormed the abandoned town like planned.

The houses were empty and used as storehouses or labs for whatever the cartel wanted. The civilians had fled the town, no safety within the walls of the village that was now taken over by the Las Almas Cartel.

“Down! Get down!” The first rounds of gunfire erupted, and you ducked behind cover as commanded, the tang of smoke from the ammunition spent stinging your nose.

This, all this around you, was the shadowy underbelly of the beautiful city.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

You kept yourself quiet, studious as you dug through your bag and compartmentalized the hours between hitting the ground in Las Almas, and the moment you were in now. The gunfire in the abandoned village had resulted in finding out that Hassan had been there in the hideout, until he was moved.

Further up the river and in a secondary hideout is where they had found him hiding, with the assistance of Commander Graves and the Shadow Company. The joint Taskforce had succeeded in securing the terrorist to be questioned; however, there was little to be said about the methods of interrogation he may be hit with.

You had done the task given to you, you had succeeded being a combat nurse after another gunfight. Bullets were removed, gashes and wounds were secured and cleaned, and no one had lost their lives. It was a “success” by the standard; however, there was more to this task than anyone had even known.

You, as you sat on the sidelines and dug through your bag, had rattled nerves. It wasn’t just due to the gunfight you’d survived, it wasn’t just a circumstantial effect of patching up soldiers in the field.

No, this was something entirely different. And when all eyes were off you, you looked at your arms and felt your chest constrict.

“Maldito cabrón,” had been harshly yelled through the gunfire by the leader of Los Vaqueros, a fact that hadn’t hit you until you had a moment to think.

“Maldito hijo de puta,” had come through the communication system, something spoken by a voice you thought was Rudy Parra’s.

Both men, both Mexican special forces officers, had spoken the keywords to solidify themselves as your soulmates. And those key identifying words were ensconced in thick black lines, emboldened and complete. It was a moment that was life altering, coming at the worst possible time for you, and for them.

Still, you remained quiet about this revelation, and you distracted yourself by paying attention to the brief interrogation of Hassan, and the sound of his feet being dragged across the gravel. The only light had come from the yellow hued headlights of the truck and humvee that were driven here, one of which was Hassan’s escort.

“On your knees.” Soap had grabbed Hassan’s right arm, escorting him to the focal point before a camera as Alejandro removed his hood.

“Y’all got a clear picture?” Graves crouched under in front of a truck, adjusting the angle to get Hassan completely unveiled by the camera.

“Crystal.” General Shepherds voice echoed through the comm, and you leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, hands tucked under your chin.

“All set.” Laswell was the next to speak, the next to address in this interrogation effort, while Hassan was kept hostage.

“Alright. We are live, folks.” Commander Graves stood straight and walked toward Hassan, almost arrogantly, before stopping in front of him.

You were aware of Ghost’s position near the back of the truck, a position he took as a guard in case Hassan decided to bolt. Soap and Alejandro were standing behind Hassan, far enough away not to distort any recognition tactics.

“You speak Arabic?” Hassan’s hands were held behind his back, a set of stiff cuffs keeping him bound.

“No.” Graves stopped in front of Hassan, hands on his hips and a look of compressed disapproval on his face.

“Farsi?” Hassan’s lips began to form a smirk, another arrogant expression that was almost fitting for the mad bastard.

“No.” Graves replied with annoyance, and as he did, you could hear howling coyotes and the noises of nature at night in the background.

It was another reminder that although beautiful, there was more wilderness to this place than you realized.

“Of course not. Then I’ll speak your bastardized Medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs.” He looked around at you all, that same cocky half-smirk on his face, even as Graves stepped closer.

“Ahh, see...we’re getting off to a bad start, Hassan.” Graves, ever disappointed, kicked some gravel toward Hassan and shook his head.

“You’re talking to a Quds Force officer.”

“You're the commander of a foreign terror organization.” Graves continued the interrogation, a sight that you had briefly tuned out when you looked back at your wrists, and the soulmate identifying words that had now become a reality.

Fate had decided that it was time for you all to be intertwined. Fate, the fickle bitch, was not going to wait any longer and this was the time for you three to come together.

Regardless of circumstances or opportune timing.

Wildlife and coyotes yipped again, signalling more scurrying from the distance as the night carried on. You had lifted your head, directing your attention from the soulmate marks to the man being questioned. The terrorist still on his knees while Soap and Alejandro were nearby.

“I’m a hostage here, this is illegal.”

“You’re a prisoner of war.” Alejandro’s accent and husky voice had drawn your attention to the fearless leader, and dull heat boiled in your stomach as the recognition re-centred itself.

“Iran is not at war with Mexico. I’ve broken no laws. These men and their commanders are the lawbreakers.” He pulled against Alejandro’s hand, tugging twice before he was settled back into a place of submission at the colonels hands.

“You and your beloved general Ghorbani broke every—“ Soap had spoken, and a physical and verbal reaction from Hassan had made both men nearly lose their hold on him.

Hassan had stood with rage, he spoke with fury as he cut Soap off. “DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME!”

“You executed him, and you will pay for your crimes—“ Hassan had looked at Soap, at all of you, like you were the scum of the earth.

You averted your eyes and shifted positions where you sat, just as heat blistered your stomach from the inside out. It was a visceral reaction to the settling bond that had been melded. Nothing more complicated than breathing, it was almost as natural.

The curse words in Spanish, inked on your skin as a gift from Fate, had now been completely visible and strengthened after being spoken. You wondered if you had managed to say the trigger words for them. If you’d managed to give them what they needed to feel this same heat.

“—without proof, we need to turn him loose, see where he leads.” Shepherd spoke again, a kind of finality in his tone.

“He’s right here, you can’t be serious.” Soap had taken an approach you knew was palatable, one that even you had felt.

If they let him go, would they find him again?

“Did we get anything from his phone?” Ghost spoke after looking down at the phone in his hands and then glancing toward the camera.

Laswell had remained silent for a single moment before she replied with something good, something minutely hopeful. “Affirmative. We got a hit.”

“Good, now take him back and let him go.” Shepherds order was forcibly accepted, and with a nod of his head, Ghost had signalled to Alejandro.

The bag was pulled, with force, over Hassan’s head and the terrorist was yanked to his feet. “Hasta el culo. vamos.”

He was being led away by Alejandro, the interrogation over. With this whole incident wrapped up open-ended, you had also risen to your feet. You yanked your medic bag up from the gravel road and slung the strap over your shoulder, feeling the thud against your hip.

“You really have to let him go?” You questioned Ghost, glancing slowly from Soap to himself, stepping toward the vehicle. “That’s bullshit.”

“That’s an order.” Ghost spoke plainly, matter-of-factly, tugging on the door handle to the truck. “Get your ass inside.”

“Todo puede ser lanzado al aire al menos una vez.” You muttered under your breath as you got into the truck, sliding to the rear driver's side.

“English, L/N.” Ghost took the rear passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

“Everything can be airdropped at least once.”

[southernbluebellereader]

MASTERLIST

Who I write for: Call of Duty (Preferably MW2 and MW3); Star Trek (everything up to Enterprise + Strange New Worlds); Slashers (Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers); Jack Reacher (Alan Ritchson); SIX (coming soon)

REQUESTS: Closed | INBOX: Open | TAG LIST: Click Here | (*) = WIP

Last Update: November 12, 2024

{JACK REACHER}

| JACK REACHER (Alan Ritchson) |

General Headcanons

General Headcanons Part 2

X Fem! Southern Waitress

Peach Pie and Cream

{CALL OF DUTY}

| IMAGINES/HEADCANONS/REQUESTS |

Imagine Dancing with Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Imagine Dancing with John Price, Ghost, and Soap

Do They Know How to Take a Bra Off? (COD 141 + Alejandro, Rudy, & König)

Routines (Taskforce 141 x Southern Hairdresser Reader (PLATONIC))

Routines Part 2 (Taskforce 141 x Southern Hairdresser Reader (PLATONIC))

Tenderheart Bear (141 x People Pleaser F! Field Medic (PLATONIC))

How would the 141 react to you getting your nails done? (COD MW2) (Task Force 141 - Semi-NSFW)

(18) Request: Imagine Ghost & König with an anal vibrator

Request: 141 x Reader w/ Psoriasis & Vitiligo (SFW & Platonic)

Request: Taskforce 141 x Reader with rumors of being a slut

(18+) Request: Kvinlig Demon (141 x F! Reader w/ Womb Tattoo)

| CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE |

Requests

(18+) NSFW Price x Younger S/O & he is wrapped around your finger ;)

(18+) NSFW Daddy Price x Wife (this a little *spicy*)

Family Day (x Wife Reader; y'all and the 141 go to Disney World as a family)

Personal Nurse (x Nurse F! Reader)

Leg Warmers (x Reader w/ misaligned knee caps)

*Price begging - collar - sub!Price

X Female Escort Reader

[PART 1] Don’t Look At Me Like That (FLUFF/LITTLE ANGST)

[PART 2] Excitement in Patience (18+ MATURE)

[PART 3] Cup of Coffee (Kinda of a prequel)

X Female Wife Reader

Gray Hairs (FLUFF)

X Young Reader with Facial Scars

[PART 1] Bruised Apple (Platonic, Angst, Facial Scars, Mention of Violence)

[PART 2] Apple Slices (DITTO [Mention of Violence & Trauma])

[PART 3] Apple Pie (Platonic, going on slightly romantic, Angst, Fluffity Fluff)

X MILF Single Mom

Forbidden (Fluff, Innuendos, Brief mention of violence)

| LIEUTENANT SIMON “GHOST” RILEY |

Requests

Drake (x AFAB Teammate w/ Tattoo; Simon seeing their tattoo for the first time)

Turquesa (x AFAB Latinx Nurse Reader)

Midnight Dining (x AFAB Civilian Reader (leather jacket Ghost))

Emergency Snack Run (x AFAB Gas Station Clerk)

Personal Mechanic (Mechanic Ghost x AFAB Reader)

X Female Southern Cook

[PART 1] Midnight Snack (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 2] Tomato, Tom-ah-to (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 3] Bag of Peas (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 4] Hash Browns (FLUFF & MOSTLY PLATONIC)

[PART 5] Prickly Pear (FLUFF & DEF NOT PLATONIC ANYMORE)

[PART 6] Peaches and Cream (FLUFF, ANGST, LOVEY DOVEY)

[PART 7] Chicken and Dumplings (VERY ANGST, A LITTLE VIOLENCE)

[PART 8] Hot Links (FLUFFITY FLUFF FLUFF LOVEY DOVEY)

X Female Reader

(18+) Hot For Teacher (Simon's S/O gets a teacher costume for Halloween)

Being Chosen…By A Baby (Single Mom Reader)

| COLONEL ALEJANDRO VARGAS |

X Female Wife Reader

Forehead Kisses (FLUFF)

Alejandro and His Big Ol' Forehead - One, Two, Three, Four

| SERGEANT KEEGAN P. RUSS (COD GHOSTS) |

Fun and Games (x F! reader) (PLATONIC) - His name is said in a funny accent

| SERGEANT KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK |

Requests

A little nosy, aren't we? (x F! Reader gets caught looking at his social media)

(18+) Car Shenanigans (x F! Reader giving head/getting fingered)

Post-Mission Angst (x AFAB Reader)

X Female Signaler/Radiowoman Reader

Guardian Angel (bubbling relationship)

| KÖNIG |

How he likes to show affection by holding you close (xGN Reader)

| COMMANDER PHILLIP GRAVES |

X Pregnant Wife Reader

First Time Husband (first-time pregnancy; little angst, fluff)

| SERGEANT LOGAN WALKER (COD GHOSTS) |

Requests

Headcanons (Both SFW and NSFW)

What would Logan be like as a Father? (fuffity fluff fluff)

Headcanons Part 2 (Both SFW and NSFW)

| SOBIESŁAW "GROMSKO" KOŚCIUSZKO |

General Headcanons (SFW and NSFW)

Supportive Soft Friend (SFW Fluff)

| KATE LASWELL |

x Wife Reader

My Wife (fluffity fluff fluff)

| ALEX KELLER |

x F! New Yorker Medic Reader

Polar Opposites (Golden Retriever Alex, Black Cat Reader; Fluff)

| SERGEANT JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH |

Requests

*Dilf! Johnny x Babysitter

x F! Reader

Calling Him "Stud"

{STAR TREK}

| IMAGINES/HEADCANONS |

Kirk, Spock, & Bones x Southern Reader (SFW)

Do They Know How to Take Bra Off? (Kirk, Bones, Spock, Scotty, Chekov)

| DOCTOR LEONARD “BONES” MCCOY |

X Female Nurse Practitioner

Medical Couple (FLUFF LOVEY DOVEY; TOS/REBOOT MOVIES)

| FIRST COMMANDER SPOCK |

Requests

Pop of Color (x F! Betazoid Quartermaster/Seamstress; STRANGE NEW WORLDS)

{SLASHERS}

| JASON VOORHEES |

X Female Camp Counselor

Instinct (stalking)

{SIX}

| JOE "BEAR" GRAVES |

Requests

Request: Joe Graves X Younger Wife/GF Headcanons

[sofasoap]

Love at first sight - 6

Pairing: Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x F!reader ( aka Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Finally letting your feelings known. Part I, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,Part 5,Epilogue

Warning: Mature rating. inaccuracies to medical and military related. discussion of injury. A/N: Thanks to @kaplerrr and @okayyadriana helping me with Spanish words :) if there are any mistakes. Please blame me not them.

“masterlist” 

“Doc.. Doc… Doctor MacTavish. MINI.”

Your hand trembled slightly, mid suturing, as your surgical assistant called out to you. Breaking you out from your intense concentration.

“I’ll finish up.”

“But..”

“You've done enough.”  You need rest. The unspoken words conveyed through the stern look. 

Before you can reply, he already nudges you gently to the side with his hip, not even giving you a chance to refuse. Passing him the instrument and after giving them final instructions, you left the theatre as the scout nurse shoos you out. 

Tearing off your cap and gown and throwing them into the bin, You stumble towards the sink. Looking up into the mirror as you splash some water onto your face, red rim eyes, dark eye bags and not to mention hair in disarray. Gez I really look shit. 

Giving yourself a good slap on the face, your mind finally gets a moment to pause and try to process through what has been happening in the last twenty four hours. Not even minutes arriving at the base you were shoved onto helo and straight into medevac mission. 

“SERGEANT MAJOR RODOLFO PARRA,YOU BETTER KEEP THOSE DAMN ASS EYES OPEN FOR ME OR ELSE!”

The panic you felt, it burns a hole in your heart. You have nearly lost all your hope as his vitals dropped and stopped responding to any stimuli. But you are Mini. The fierce and hot headed Doctor that is famous for never giving up on their patient. The Lady Fortuna. 

And today, you won again. Luck and fortune was on your side again.

What would you do if you didn’t?

Cursing yourself in your mind for that negative thought as you walked out of the theatre, you saw a figure immediately standing up from the bench from the corner of your eyes.

“Colonel.”

“What is the situation?” Cutting straight to the chase. You don’t blame him, this is his second in command and closest friend’s life on the line here. 

“We managed to stabilise him. Now it’s just waiting for him to wake up in recovery and hope for the best.” You roll your shoulders as you give him the postoperative rundowns. Eyeing Alejandro, you notice he didn’t come out of the mission unscathed himself. 

Grabbing his arm , you made a noise of disapproval, “You are injured as well, Colonel,  have you had someone look at you yet?”

“I am fine.” Alejandro waved off your concern lightly and frowned as he looked at your wearied form. “You look worse than me. You haven’t stopped the minute you got dropped off. Worry about yourself first.” You drop your shoulders and make a face. “Why is everyone trying to push me to rest?” “Because everyone knows you too well.” Pressing your shoulder, insisting you to take a seat. “Stay here.” he walked off after making sure you were not going anyway. 

Closing your eyes as you lean back in the uncomfortable hard plastic bench, exhaustion catching up to you all of sudden. Maybe you really should start doing what you preach, before you collapse and become a burden to others.

A gentle tap on your shoulder brought you back from your mind wondering. Alejandro standing there with two cups of coffee and crackers.

“Not quite sure how you take your coffee. I added a bit of sugar and milk into it.”

“Thank you Colonel.” Quietly thanking him, you only realise that you haven’t had any food or drink for the whole day. No wonder you were on the edge of collapsing. But then there were more pressing matters to think about, injuries to attend to, life to save. Especially someone you cared about so much, slipping away from your grasp. 

“He misses you a lot.”  Alejandro quietly mentioned it after a moment of silence. 

“I know.” Taking a sip of the coffee, contemplating if you should ask the question. You feel like you know the answer, you just want to be sure.

“Colonel.” 

“Hmm?”

“What did Rudy say before he fell unconscious?” picking on the edge of the plastic cup, "not my Spanish is the greatest.. But I think I …”

“I think it’s a question you should ask him directly when he wakes up." Gently cutting you off, “I can only tell you, never have I seen my brother so lost before. Nothing ever phases him, not even in the most dangerous situation. That is why he is my second in command. The one I trust to keep an eye on my back.”  Turning his head and looking at you with slight sadness in his eyes, “Thank you for saving his life, Mini.” 

Draining the rest of the coffee, and throwing the cup into the bin. “Come. I’ll take you back to the base.”

Clenching onto the cup tight, nearly spilling the content out, “No. I .. I want to wait for him to wake up.” I want to be the first person he sees when he opens his eyes. 

“You need rest.”

“I can sleep on the chair. I can sleep anywhere.” Pressing your lips tight, stubbornly refuse Alejandro’s offer. 

Shaking his head, Alejandro sighed. “They were right about you again. You sure are stubborn as they described.” Pointing to the little bag on the ground that you haven’t noticed before, “Sergeant Soap dropped off the bag for you before. I’ll ask the staff here to see if there is an On-call Staff room or bed for you to rest in.” 

Face heating up with slight embarrassment, you quietly thank him before he grasps your shoulder and turns towards the nurse station. 

Now it’s a waiting game.

Rudy slowly opened his eyes. White ceiling. Definitely not back at the base. He closes his eyes again as the intense pounding of headache and bright light hits him. Definitely still alive. From the amount of pain he is feeling all over. Unless he is in hell where this is probably a form of torture. For punishing people who have taken too many people’s lives. Innocent or guilty.

Hearing light snoring coming close to the edge of the bed, slowly and with difficulties he turns his head to check out the source of the sound. 

Well , maybe he is in heaven. Otherwise what would be the logical explanation that you are here with him. It must be part of the hallucination he was experiencing. He reaches his hand out, wanting to touch you, making sure you are real. 

You slowly stirred as his hand gently caresses your hair. Your head shoots up as soon as you register what is happening, gasping for air with realisation that he has woken up. 

“You ..are.. real.” Rudy blinked slowly, voice husky and coarse from lack of use. “You are here with me, mi amor…mi vida…”

Tears flooding over the edge of your eyes, you were overwhelmed by emotion and relief, months of pent up feeling, stress, regrets burst through the damn, flowing out from you all in one go. 

“Aquí estoy mi amor….I am so sorry.. So sorry….” You couldn’t stop your sobbing and hiccup as you grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. Feeling his pulse, his warmth, him being alive.

“Why are you even apologising?There is nothing to apologise for.” he whispered as he returned your squeeze.

“I nearly lost you. If I didn’t get there in time.. If I didn’t manage to pull through that surgery.. If… “ you rambled on as you beat yourself with guilt, “I left you, and I nearly made the decision of not coming back, I would have lost the chance of telling you that I… I…. “ Taking in a deep breath as you look into his eyes, now with determination. You have to let him know. “That I miss you, I love you. I love you so much. I would never, ever, love anyone else like how I love you for the rest of my life.”

Rudy’s eyes widen with your bold confession. His heart aches as he takes in your features. Sadness and fatigue, how long have you been sitting by his bedside, waiting for him to wake up? 

Forgetting his own injury, he tries to push himself to sit up, wanting to get closer to you, to pull you into his embrace, to comfort you, to soothe your worries. He winced in pain as he felt a pull around his abs. You look down at his torso in alarm, a slight bit of blood starts oozing out from the site. 

“Stay down Rudy, you're going to tear out all your stitches and start bleeding again if you move too much!” you chided as you gently pushed him back down, immediately switching to doctor mode. “I didn’t spend hours and hours in the theatre trying to close your wound and to have you bleeding to death in this bed!” 

“Please don’t leave me. Please my love… I just can’t bear the thought of you leaving me again.” He tenses up as you stood up and about to walk out of the room, the irrational fear flooding him, scaring you were going to disappear on him again. 

“I am not going anywhere.. I promise. Now rest..” You push the slightly overgrown fringe away from his forehead, leaning down to give him a soft kiss on the lip. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”Your heart clenched at his desperate tone, “I need to go grab a nurse and some equipment,” pointing to his stomach, “and get that cleaned up.” 

With that reassurance and another kiss, this time you let your lip linger a bit longer over his,  Rudy closes his eyes again. He knows next time he opens them, you will still be with him. 

He can finally relax. 

Tag list: @jynxmirage @kaplerrr @captainpriceslover @homicidal-slvt @floral-force @deadbranch @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @okayyadriana @random-thot-generator @siilvan @nightingal3-tales @crazymela @preciouslittlecreature @glitterypirateduck @cumikering @devcica @nrdmssgs @random0lover

[skylarsblue]

✦Who I Write For✦

Rules

(This will be added too over time)

SLASHERS

⭑Bo Sinclair ⭑Vincent Sinclair ⭑Lester Sinclair ⭑Michael Myers (OG, 2007, & Gramps) ⭑Thomas Hewitt ⭑Bubba Sawyer ⭑Jason Voorhees ⭑Ghostface (Billy & Stu) ⭑Tiffany Valentine ⭑Brahms Heelshire ⭑Billy Lenz ⭑Carrie White ⭑Baby Driftwood ⭑Otis Driftwood ⭑Pyramid Head ⭑Herbert West (if a male/masc reader) -Bonus- ⭑Carly & Nick; House of Wax ⭑Sydney; Scream

Dead By Daylight

♢Evan MacMillan - The Trapper ♢Anna - The Huntress ♢Max Thompson Jr. - The Hillbilly ♢Sally Smithson - The Nurse ♢Herman Carter - The Doctor ♢Ji Woon Hak - The Trickster ♢Danny Johnson - The Ghostface ♢Philip Ojomo - The Wraith ♢Amanda Young - The Pig ♢Rin Yamaoka - The Spirit (only SFW) ♢Kazan Yamaoka - The Oni ♢Frank Morrison - The Legion ♢Susie Lavoie - The Legion (only SFW) ♢Julie Kostenko - The Legion ♢Joey - The Legion ♢Adiris - The Plague ♢Caleb Quinn - The Deathslinger ♢Carmina Mora - The Artist ♢Sadako Yamamura - The Onryo (only SFW) ♢Tarhos Kovacs - The Knight ♢Adriana Imai - The Skullmerchant ♢Nemesis - The Nemesis -Bonus- ♢Jill Valentine ♢Leon Kennedy ♢Cheryl Mason ♢Carlos Oliveria ♢Claudette Morel ♢Bill Overbeck ♢Vittorio Toscano

Our Life; Beginnings & Always

❧Cove Holden ❧Derek Suarez ❧Baxter Ward ❧Elizabeth Last (x readers for non-sibling characters) ❧Kyra Preece ❧Tamarack Baumann ❧Qui "Autumn" Lin

Beetlejuice

⚂Lawrence Beetlegeuse Shoggoth ⚂Lydia Deetz (only SFW) ⚂Adam Maitland ⚂Barbara Maitland ⚂Ms.Argentina

Call of Duty; Modern Warfare

✚Simon "Ghost" Riley ✚Johnny "Soap" MacTavish ✚John Price ✚Kyle "Gaz" Garrick ✚Alejandro Vargas ✚Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra ✚Valeria Garza ✚Alex Keller ✚Farah Karim ✚Nikolai ✚Konig ✚Horangi

Random

❦Eddie Brock & Venom (2015) ❦Frankenstein's Monster - Mary SHelly ❦Classic Monsters; Dracula, Werewolves, etc. ❦Krampus(yes you read me) ❦Y/N from Stuck on A Childhood Crush/Friend & Killer (aka Cordelia)

Yes that's write. You can have your Y/N x Reader fics now.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Happier Than Ever

Part 1: Another Order

Once, and again.

Over and over, you counted and recounted. You double-checked that you had everything you’d need before you even left for the debriefing. You’d been given orders as a medic that you’d be heading out with Ghost & Soap to Las Almas, in pursuit of Hassan.

While you didn’t know all the details of what would be happening once you touched down, you had known that you would be there if shit hit the fan.

You weren’t exactly technically a soldier however you had completed basic training, and took the necessary test to get your rank, rather you were a medic with four years of university under your belt, and 6 weeks of basic training.

You had been scouted out by Laswell 6 months into working as a nurse, with her approach with an offer you couldn’t turn down.

By 25, you’d been on three missions with them. This was your fourth.

It was an offer to work alongside soldiers of the 141, more specifically Soap & Ghost, and occasionally Gaz. You weren’t a doctor, but you had enough medical knowledge to be able to keep them alive if needed.

Your order had come from Captain Price, one of the first and longest trips since you’d had your last leave. Now that you were heading out again, you were ready to get back to work.

”Check and double check.” You made a mental note in your mind, a list of supplies that you’d need in the field if something were to happen.

As you lifted your medic bag from your bed to the floor, you stared at the marks on your wrists. The faint identifying words that would be spoken eventually by your soulmates were hardly anything clean cut.

On the left wrist was Maldito hijo de puta and on the right was Maldito cabrón! Neither of which was easy to explain when you had come across someone who had spoken Spanish.

Regardless of the insults permanently engrained into your wrists, you almost find the idea of having the crass insults on your wrists funny. You had to wonder what your words would’ve been, if your word would have been equally crass, or would it be something less.

”Once and again.” You echoed in your head, stopping once to look back at your room. You wanted to make sure you had everything, that nothing would be missing.

With confirmation that you thought you grabbed everything you needed, you picked up your medic bag and rested it on the crook of your elbow.

You walked out of your room toward the debriefing room, walking steadily as to not be late. You weren’t a soldier, but you had basic training done.

Furthermore, you carried a few weapons, mostly a handgun and small knives and weapons of small calibre like tasers and pepper spray. You had enough to defend yourself and the soldiers you were working on, but not enough to fight the enemies yourself.

You left the fighting to them, the soldiers of the 141, or Bravo 6. You were meant to keep them alive, to patch them up and seal them together until they could reach a doctor.

”Head up, eyes focused.” Ghost had starkly reminded you of the first time you went on a mission with them, cold and calculated but minutely trusting you as you trusted them.

”Head up, eyes focused.” It was a reminder, something you repeated in your head over and over.

Stay focused, stay behind the soldiers, do your job and keep them alive. That was your role, that was your main focus, and everything you had in your kit would have done that.

At least more of the minor injuries and wounds that didn’t require a med-bay.

”Orders are in, Las Almas is waiting.” Soap had already opened the door for you, before you had a chance. He was there in the debriefing room along with Ghost and Captain Price.

There was a map of Las Almas on the screen, in great detail marking out potential hiding places for Hassan, and to the left were pictures of the contacts you would meet in the city.

Colonel Alejandro Vargas, the leader of Los Vaqueros, and Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra were your contacts in Las Almas. They would be wishing for you when you touched down, ready to transport you to the base where Los Vaqueros operated, and then you would get started.

“I don’t suppose either of you speak Spanish?” You asked both Soap & Ghost, dropping your medic bag to the floor near the door.

You dropped it near Soap & Ghost’s gear, the medic bag falling first and then your backed duffle. As you furthered entered the room and took a seat at the single table in the room, there was a subtle negation to your question.

“You do,” Captain Price’s voice interrupted any chance of them verbally answering, and had provided another reason why you were chosen for this, “you’re acting as translator and medic.”

You were going to be acting as a linguistic liaison and medic, an added role on top of your usual. It wouldn’t have been the first time you’d been asked to translate for someone, but never on a long-winded mission like this.

“I can do that.” You didn’t hesitate, you had agreed to this added role, knowing that neither Soap nor Ghost could speak Spanish, beyond a few words. “I can act as a translator.”

“Good,” Captain Price lifted his cigar to his lips, inhaling the smoke, waiting a moment before blowing it out in thick groves.

“Hassan is hiding in Las Almas. We’re going to comb through the city and find that fucker, one way or another. Colonel Vargas and Sergeant Major Parra are your contacts. They would be waiting for you, find them first and meet Los Vaqueros, then find Hassan.”

“L/N is your translator and your medic, she’ll help you bypass the language barrier.” Captain Price had given a few more details of this task, this mission to find Hassan, and when he was done, he dismissed the three of you.

“Las Almas,” Soap looked you over, a half-smirk on his face, “bet you always wanted to go to Mexico.”

“Shut up, Soap.”

[imaginedreamwrite]

Happier Than Ever

Part 3: An American, A Brit & A Scotsman

Alex Keller, by the bequest of Laswell, had personally gotten you through the 6 weeks of basic training that was necessary.

Alex Keller was the soldier who had worked with Captain Price and had been part of the 141, had tasked with getting you up to speed and ready for the first mission.

In between your time with Alex Keller, wherein you learned orders and combat skills, dependency on your teammates, and how to handle a weapon, you worked in the base hospital.

You were put through constant scenarios and training exercises that had almost broken you. The exercises that detailed what you could live through in the field, what you could have thrown at you, were the focus of your time in the medical hospital on base.

For 6 weeks, you’d been given crash courses on how to survive and deal with the life-threatening conditions of these places you could go to. And with each difference scenario you were thrown into, had been a potential breaking point for you.

Although you had done four years of medial school, and you were a registered nurse, you weren’t prepared to be thrown headfirst into combat medicine.

Your degree as a registered nurse had been encompassed with techniques that were meant to be implemented in the field. It was a complete mindset change for you, to be thrown into this necessary urgency to work as fast as possible while knowing that people would be shooting at you.

Regardless of your fear, regardless of your apprehension of working alongside a covert and deadly squad of soldiers, multinational as they were, you had been prepared as best as you possibly could be.

The first mission you were on had taken you somewhere close to the Russian border, the task of keeping the squad of soldiers alive as they hunted down a nationalist hellbent on destructive weapons entering the Ukrainian border, before being sent to the U.S. You’d attended the mission as one of two medics, thrown headfirst into the dangerous, and potentially illegal, task of finding the enemy.

It was on that first mission that you had felt true, raw fear. You were a medic, a combat nurse, and you had soldiers between you and the enemy; however, you weren’t shielded completely. The other medic you were with had been shot in the leg, a wound that you’d had to take care of while being mindful of being shot yourself.

When the mission was over, Laswell had asked you if you’d wish to continue, if you’d want to change your mind about working for this specific task force. Your mind and body were at odds. Although you had negated leaving because despite being shot at, despite the other medic having an injury that would later require surgery, you’d been stubborn enough to stick around,

The first mission had become two, and two had become three. Now, you were on your fourth with Ghost & Soap and this, despite all the risks, was all you thought you’d wanted to do. This, with the potential of death, was a job you wanted to do.

You understood that their task force and their missions couldn’t have been reduced to a simple case of black or white. There was an incredibly shady area that had hovered above the moral compass that allotted them to go into hell and back to save more people than would even know.

It wasn’t a conscienceless squad that had killed anyone in their sights, it was a chain of command and men and women themselves who had given their all. It was sacrifice and the knowledge that they may not live the next day, that they’d surrendered themselves to.

That you would, in some similar way, allot yourself to.

Laswell had been the one to recruit you; however, Captain Price had been the one to officially concede and have you part of the 141. Regardless of you being a soldier or not, you were a small part of their team, and they were a much bigger part of yours.

You depended on them far more than they had depended on you. Yet, if things had become fucked up in any sense, you would be responsible for trying to keep them alive until they could reach a doctor.

Mission 4 with you working closely with Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley had taken you to Las Almas. And Las Almas was nothing like you had expected, even from a first initial impression.

The first blast of heat that hit you when you stepped off the ramp had been overshadowed easily by the streets that the Humvee was being driven down.

The streets that were laid with cobblestone and concrete, edges with brightly coloured buildings and overhanging trees or fauna, was undercut with dark and tempestuous control. The Las Almas Cartel had a sick hold on the city, one that you’d been warned about from Laswell & Price, and would see its hand now.

“White truck, four armed men in the back.” Soap’s voice was quiet, yet he warned Ghost, the lieutenant flexing his fingers against the belly of his gun.

You looked back over your shoulder at the passing vehicle, the white truck had been during down the road before turning the corner. Each man in the back had a rifle of some kind, all the men seemingly relaxed enough like it was a regular occurrence. Almost as if it were as normal as carrying a cellphone.

“Hey, tranquilo. Easy, that’s normal here.” Colonel Vargas had raised a hand to calm the building tension, and to reiterate the difference between Las Almas and everything else you’d seen before. “Guns on the street is the jurisdiction of the police.”

“Where are the police?” As Ghost questioned Alejandro, you leaned forward and looked out the window Soap was sitting beside, seeing a large and emboldened image of the Virgin Mary on a building, and on top of her image was El Sin Nombre written in black letters.

“Well, Las Almas has a very serious problem. There are few here to uphold the law. And many of those who resist corruption disappear.” Alejandro had spoken so calmly when he spoke of the disappearances, this every day occurrence to men like them was almost no different from experiences you’d had in the U.S.

Hearing of shootings almost daily in the US had been common to you, just as these disappearances were common to them.

“What about the military?” Soap set a hand on your shoulder and pulled you back to sit again, his eyes briefly locking on yours before he looked back at Alejandro.

“Well, because we are well-trained, soldiers are recruited by the narcos.” Another fact, another plain statement that was so common for men like Alejandro and Rudy.

“Why not you?” Ghost and Soap were carrying the conversation while you remained quiet. You were observant, trying to catch as much of the streets of Las Almas as you could.

“We grew up here. They call us Los Vaqueros…cowboys.” Alejandro had looked toward Rudy, the two of them sharing a single glance, almost communicating without words. “We love this place, and we will die fighting for it.”

As the vehicle turned a corner, you’d leaned forward again. You watched a father and his child buying a balloon, a sight which would have been common if it hadn't had been the armed man standing behind the child. The assault rifle in his hands was held down but tightly, and he had worn a skull balaclava like Ghost had borne.

“Kids, guns and balloons, that’s new.” Soap, side-eyed Ghost, his voice holding an edge.

“Think that’s more common than you think.” You finally spoke, muttering under your breath as you took another look at the scene unfolding.

“Narcos use generosity to win over the people.” Alejandro had nodded his head, understanding Soap’s reaction but adding further details into how corrupt the city was.

“Even the children?” It was a shared sentiment, though not one that you could say you’d gone without seeing.

Although not to this extent, with the US having the right to bear arms written in the Declaration of Independence, you could honestly say that you had witnessed men and women carrying guns around state fairs and celebrations while kids ran wild. It was a different atmosphere here however than it was back home, and this had carried with it a weight of corruption unheard of.

“Especially the children….” Rudys voice had carried to the back, and you’d heard him speak but hadn’t registered what he said.

Rather, your attention was grabbed by another image of the Virgin Mary on the side of the building, and a scene in an alley that made your skin crawl.

“What the fuck?” You cursed louder than anticipated, leaning forward to see first hand the taunting nature of this cartel with your own eyes. “What the fuck is that?”

In the back alley was an old truck with its tailgate down and a white cloth covered in black painted letters, the message was no less chilling than it was debilitating. On the stone road had laid two bodies, covered with the same white cloth and black lettered message.

“Narcomantas,” Alejandro rolled down the window of the Humvee, his eyes trained on the grisly sight.

“Cartel cloths,” Rudy had looked through the rearview mirror, catching your gaze as he spoke to you.

“Messages from El Sin Nombre. Warnings, marking territory. Our streets are laced with death.” The window, just as soon as it was rolled down, was rolled up again, and the vehicles started moving.

“Who’s Sin Nombre?” Ghost’s thick accent had bared the question, and it hung in the air for a few milliseconds before Alejandro corrected him.

“El Sin Nombre, the Nameless…the leader of the Las Almas Cartel.”

“Where can we find him?” Soap’s focus was aimed forward, while yours was trained on the streets. You couldn’t stop looking at the death, and the corruption they’d spoken of that bled through every seemingly endless faction of this city.

“You can’t. No one knows who he is.” Alejandro looked out the window, an image belonging to El Sin Nombre appearing on the side of a building.

It was different from the ones before. Instead of the Virgin Mary, this image was crafted and created with flowers and bright colours that drew your attention. It looked entirely unseemly, and if you’d not known about the Las Almas cartel, you would’ve almost admired the images that were painted on that old brick.

“And this is a challenge. But Los Vaqueros like challenges.”

“With your mask, you’ll fit in well here, Ghost.” Rudy, attempting to steer the conversation, had spoken in the small moment of silence.

Soap had raised his hand and waved it in front of his neck, a signal not to push the issue, as Ghost glanced toward Rudy. You had snorted softly and laughed under your breath, remembering shortly before that Sergeant Major Rudy Parra had expressed his fear of ghosts.

“Something funny, private?” Soap grinned, nudging you when he heard you laugh. His blue eyes settled on you expectantly.

“Nothing, Sergeant.” you returned the respect for rank and cleared your throat. “Stupid joke.”

Your time spent with Soap and Ghost as their medic, more than most others in the 141, had led to an eased relationship between you and Soap. He wasn’t just your CO, he was also your friend and took the role of an older brother. In a sense, despite only being a few years older than you.

“Fuck, now you gotta share.” Soap’s natural charm had easily won over most people he had met and if you hadn’t seen him in uniform or known he was in the army, you’d never suspected a thing.

“It’s so stupid.” You looked away from him, laughing under your breath again.

“Now you gotta tell me.” Soap nudged you again. “Come on, don’t hold out.”

“You don’t need a parachute to go skydiving. You need a parachute to go skydiving twice.” You laughed under your breath, again.

“That was shit.” Soap laughed regardless of your stupid joke, the two of you conversing between each other in the back, and without needing to turn you could feel Ghost glaring at you.

“I told you it was a stupid joke!” You defended yourself, a moment of eased tension in the Humvee, until the vehicle had come to a slow roll.

“Checkpoint. It’s the army, turn right, and we’ll go around.” There was a barricade in the street with armed soldiers on either side of the entrance further down the street, blocking off any access.

As the vehicle was turned, you took another look out the window at the armoured vehicles behind the barricades. The soldiers who were waiting even further behind the checkpoint with unseen weapons to destroy and eliminate anyone who didn’t pass their inspection.

“Why?” Soap questioned the change, and received a response that was spoken with that same fact-of-life energy as before.

“Some troops are in the pocket of El Sin Nombre. Like I told you, he is everywhere…” There was a beat of silence, half a moment where the weight of his news had settled upon the three of you, and then he spoke again.

“The Cartel is hiding Hassan in the village across the river. Let’s hope he’s still there.” The vehicles picked up speed as the street cleared again, the destination was first going to be Los Vaqueros base.

There was intel they would need at the base, along with a scourge of weapons that would be waiting for both Soap & Ghost. There was no shortage of preparation for this mission, no small risk about following them into gunfire despite you being the medic responsible for keeping them alive.

Regardless of the hell that was being unleashed within Las Almas at the hands of the cartel, the city, and its surroundings, itself were beautiful.

The landscape of the surrounding hills had been captivating on its own without the lush, thick greenery that encapsulated the landscape. You hadn’t gotten a look at the ocean as you were transported to the city, however you imagined that the waters were just as wondrous and captivating as the rest of the country.

You wished you could’ve seen the nature and beauty of Mexico without being here to help track down a terrorist. Furthermore, you’d wished you could’ve spent days and weeks on the water, or near it, feeling the sun on your skin without the weight of your bulletproof vest on your chest and shoulders.

“It’s beautiful here.” Your comment had been aired, despite you thinking it was kept in your head.

“Las Almas is a beautiful but dangerous city.” Sergeant Major Rudy Parra had met your comment with one of his own, and had looked at you in the rearview mirror. “Have any of you been to mexico before?”


“Private here always wanted to go.” Soap nudged you, grinning from ear to ear. “Though I think you’d rather be on a beach somewhere.”

“Yeah, with your head on a pike.” Your back and forth was mutually beneficial, despite the rank and the years of service between you. “Asshole.”

“So temperamental, PT!” Soap’s voice matched his laugh, especially after you’d struck him in the shoulder with your fist. “Maybe you need to sit on a beach somewhere.”

“You first!” You grit your teeth, all conversation dying when the vehicles had come to a slow stop in front of the gate that protected their base from any outside interference.

It was a momentary conversation between Sergeant Parra and the soldier guarding the gate, before it began to roll open and the humvee’s were allowed in.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Happier Than Ever

Part 2: Welcome To Mexico!

The woman waiting for you in the small booth in the quiet dead-end diner, had been waiting for you after your shift. You’d seen her twice before in the hospital, once when you had treated her for minor injuries, and the second time when she had returned to talk to you.

The first time she mentioned being a nurse who worked for a greater cause had piqued your interest. You were 6 months out of your nursing degree, 6 months working in a busy hospital with a steady stream of emergency patients that came in like a revolving door. She was one of them, though you wondered why she hadn’t gone to one of the smaller hospitals in the area, for faster treatment.

When she had returned to speak with you in the empty stairwell of the hospital, she had made the proposition to do something more. She hadn’t alluded to what she meant when she said initially, however a longer stint into the conversation, and she’d revealed enough.

The job was working as a medic, or nurse, for a multinational joint special services task force that was stationed around the world. The job would take you everywhere the squadron you were working with went, and there was no guarantee that you’d be coming back alive.

“You’re not a soldier, not technically. You’re a medic, a nurse, and your job is to keep them alive to the best of your ability until they can reach a doctor out of the combat zone.” That was the job, a dictated career, running behind soldiers as they ran into fire.

“You’ll be thrown into 6 weeks of basic training. You’ll be learning to survive under the watch of one of the best American soldiers currently in this task force. You’ll learn everything you need to, to become a soldier, but you will specifically be classed as a medic. Furthermore, you will be given a test to earn your rank, it starts with cadet and then sergeant. However, you are not technically a soldier. Your expectations are to keep them alive, to make sure they can reach a doctor.”

The second meeting could have changed your mind, when she went into little details about what to expect. You would go through the same training as a hopeful soldier, you would be put through the same rigorous physical and mental training.

Furthermore, you would be taught commands and how to handle a weapon, you would be sent through more rigorous medical training than you received in school.

The choice was yours, and you were given two weeks to decide. Two weeks to decide whether you wanted to continue working in a busy city ER, where you would be rundown and worn out, or choose to join this task force. A task force where you would be shot at, threatened or kidnapped, possibly even die on the streets of wherever you were fighting.

You’d be in the face of death, a prospect that most people your age wouldn’t dare think about. You, however, had wanted to do this.

Now, after the first two meetings, she was back, and she was sitting across from you in a dingy and shitty diner, offering the job to you again. Her name was Kate Laswell, a woman with an impressive military career of her own, a career that had made her as many friends as it had enemies.

“Have you considered what this means? You will be heading into active war zones, you will be heading into hell without a guarantee that you’ll make it back.” She had sat across from you after those two weeks, you could have reconsidered, giving you the chance to deny her offer or accept.

If you’d declined, she would find someone else. If you accepted, you’d be sent for basic training within days for 6 weeks to learn how to survive.

“I want to do this, I’ve decided to accept your offer.” In the booth across from her wearing dirty hospital scrubs where you were exhausted and drained, you’d taken the offer handed to you.

“I’ll offer your congratulations when you complete your training.” Kate Laswell had given you the order for basic training, and you had left within days, like she had told you previously.

6 weeks of basic training, specifically under combat lieutenant Alex Keller. He had run you through basic training as directed by Kate Laswell, more than once driving you nearly to a breaking point. He had pushed as hard as he could, even further beyond what your limit had been, intending to prepare you for what was coming.

When you weren’t being trained by lieutenant Keller, you were in the military base’s hospital, working through every possible scenario to give you a leg up on what you could possibly face on these missions you would be heading on.

For 6 weeks you were put through it all and at the end, when you’d taken every necessary test to pass and earn your rank, Laswell had offered you that congratulations.

After your training and taking your necessary tests, you had successfully become a private, a nurse with the 141.

Time had passed like a bullet train, sending you surging through one mission after the other, until three were already under your belt.

But by 25, you were heading on your fourth mission with Ghost & Soap specifically, heading to Las Almas. The orders were given by Captain Price to the three of you, with the understanding that you would be in contact with both Colonel Vargas & Sergeant Major Parra upon arriving.

The mission was clear, hunt down and find Hassan who was hiding in the region of Mexico that was clearly overrun by corrupt police and military bought by Las Almas Cartel. Or that is what intelligence had offered before the three of you left for the region, the contact between Laswell and Captain price had set you up for this mission.

“Keep your head up. Las Almas is corrupt, don’t place your trust in the wrong people.” It wasn’t a sentiment that was saved just for Las Almas, it was a fact everywhere you’d gone.

“You ready for this?” Soap nudged your foot with his own, stirring you from your mental escape with his Scottish accent. “You look nervous.”

“I’m fine!” You called back over the noise of the engine, reiterating the position you’d taken as the medic, and translator. “I’ll be fine!”

Between the two of them, Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Riley, you were far closer to Soap. There was a relationship that was comparable to being brother and sister, a friendship that was built through your time spent together on missions, and on base.

Ghost was closed off from the majority of people he had met, his cold heart guarded and kept tightly bound to himself. You’d been told, reassured likely, that while Ghost hadn’t trusted you entirely, he wouldn’t let you die in a gunfight. It was dispelled your anxiety to know that he would protect you if it came down to it, his role as your teammate accepted at the very least.

“Don’t lie to yourself! It’s normal to be nervous!” Soap had called back to you, adjusting his hold on the knife in his hands as he reviewed it.

He was good at quelling your anxiousness, at resolving your inner conflict. You had been on three missions now, but compared to the rest of the squad, you were practically a baby.

“I’ll be fine!” You reiterated, adjusting the throat mic that was around your neck. It was one of your habits, the fidgeting that had helped calm you before a mission. “I’ll be okay!”

“Mexico below us!” The pilot of the chopper spoke, his voice coming through the piece set in your ear, the clear wire wrapped around the back of your ear. “We’re coming to Las Almas in 10!”

The back of the chopper heralded no windows, yet you could almost picture the views in your mind. Though you’d never been to Mexico, Johnny was right in that you’d always wanted to go. Not like this, however, and you’d always wanted to be right on the shorelines near the ocean.

This was not ideally how you wanted to see the country, and if you survived this mission, you would make sure you came back to see those beautiful beaches. Without the threat of death and the weight of this mission overhanging your head. Even if you weren’t anything but a medic, a nurse to patch them up, if they had failed then so would you.

“Head up, private!” Ghost drew your attention to himself, the skeleton mask covering his face had only allowed you to be able to see his piercing green eyes, and even then, only the whites and irises were visible. The skin around his eyes was obscured with black war paint, giving him another layer of intensity and deadliness.

“What’s that say on your wrists?” Soap questioned you, the soulmate identifying words were in Spanish, not English.

You looked down at the words as they were almost faded and light. Once you’d met your soulmates and those specific words were spoken, your soulmate identifying marks would become emboldened and vibrant.

“This one,” you raised your right arm, directing his attention to the words stained lightly, “says Maldito cabrón! Which means, you fucking cunt.”

Soap’s laugh was echoing in the back of the chamber, his amusement at the swear words in Spanish had almost met your own. Thankfully, you had only gotten your soulmate identifying marks when you were 19 instead of a child.

“And the other?” He leaned forward, the knife he’d been playing with was set beside him with his elbows on his knees. “Tell me it’s something good.”

You lowered your right arm and raised your left, gazing at the same kind of faded, light lettering. “Maldito hijo de puta, means Damn son of a bitch.”

“You wonder what yours will be?” Soap’s question had come along with the pilot’s voice, warning you that you were about to touch down.

“Knowing me,” you shifted your weight as you sat, your thumbs slipping beneath the shoulder straps of your black reinforced Kevlar vest, “something stupid like ‘stubbed my fucking toe’.”

Soap’s laughter echoed again, sharing your sentiment with a nod of his head. He agreed that you would say something stupid like that, something shitty, when you had curse words on your wrists. His laughter had been overshadowed by the chopper jerking lightly as it touched ground.

Soap had stood first, grabbing his knife and shoving it back into it holster. He raised his hand and braced his palm against the wall, nudging you with his boot again. In silence, you grabbed your kit and slung it over your shoulder, the heavy canvas smacking against your hip.

“Las Almas,” Soap grinned at you, smirking as the back of the chopper dropped open, and you got your first view of the colonel and sergeant major, “welcome to Mexico, kid.”

“Shut up, Johnny.” You rolled your eyes and stepped in line behind him, moving toward the exit of the chopper.

Even from the ramp, you could feel the heat of the Mexican air. It was stagnant and hot, the sun beating down on the tarmac. Maybe twenty feet from the edge of the chopper’s ramp were the two soldiers you were supposed to be meeting, Colonel Vargas and Sergeant Major Parra.

From what you could see, both men appeared to be on par with Soap when it came to their height, if not a few inches shorter.

Of the men who were standing side by side, one had thick dark hair that was pushed back out of his face with the side cropped close, and the other had thick dark hair that seemed a tad longer than his counterpart. However, instead of having the sides close cut, his had seemed to be brushed back.

“Alejandro!” Soap stepped off the ramp, greeting the colonel with earnest. You’d followed, walking behind Ghost and Soap with your bag of supplied tucked against your hip.

“Sergeant MacTavish!” Colonel Vargas met you three halfway between the chopper and their humvee’s in the background, stopping to shake Soap’s hand.

“Call me Soap.” Johnny made the pleasant exchange, glancing toward Ghost as he prepared to make further introductions.

“Lieutenant,” Colonel Vargas’ attention had drifted toward Ghost, glancing over the other soldier who you’d been assigned to, “Laswell says they call you Ghost.”

“Actually, I think he prefers—“ Johnny started speaking, looking back at Ghost and almost immediately getting cut off by him.

“That’ll do!” Ghost’s thick British accent hung in the air, and then you felt eyes on you.

Brown and intense with warmth, you had initially expected.

“This is our medic,” Soap directed his attention toward you, introducing you with the same kind of respect that he’d introduced Ghost with, despite your obvious difference in rank, “Private L/N! A nurse!”

“You come with your own medic?” The question was raised and attention had fallen from you quickly, Alejandro Vargas focusing on the two men to your left and right. “Welcome to the “city of souls”.”

Your stomach flipped unexpectedly, nerves possibly from being on the ground finally.

This was the start of it all, the mission that wouldn’t end until Ghost & Soap found their target, or you were called home. This was your fourth mission now and while you were still inexperienced compared to the other two, you had been getting your grounding when it came to being in the midst of such chaos and strife.

This however, felt different.

“Never been to Mexico!” Soap nudged you, tilting his head to get you to follow him and Ghost.

“This isn’t Mexico…this Las Almas.” Alejandro had raised his arms, stretching his hands out to direct your attention to the tarmac and the heat that had radiated from the intense heat.

For a moment, you had tuned out the conversation as you took a long look around. The scenery beyond this place was beautiful, the hills and the endless blue sky that seemed unhindered by clouds. It was a sight that you’d wished you could have seen in different circumstances.

“My base is your base.” Alejandro had addressed Ghost and Soap while you followed behind, trying to do another mental check of what you’d need, and what you’d packed.

“Good. Now, where’s Hassan?” Ghost’s voice had an edge, one that had caught your attention.

“Cartel safe house, not far from here.” Alejandro approached one of two Humvee’s, looking back at the three of you with his intense brown eyes. “Get in.”

The door was opened and Johnny got in first, sliding all the way to the left of the back seat, settling himself against the leather. You were next to slide in, following him, and slipped your med bag around your shoulders, dropping it to the floor between your feet.

“Vamos. ¡Vamos a movernos!” Colonel Vargas addressed his men with a sharp whistle, directing them with a single command.

The door had been shut and Sergeant Major Parra had started the vehicle with the push of a button, the Humvee coming to life within a moment. As Parra hd started drive following the first vehicle, Alejandro had turned his head to look at the three of you, introducing you.

“This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.”

“Tengo miedo de los fantasmas…” The statement made you turn your head, glancing at Ghost with a natural reaction to laugh under your breath, however you had kept it to yourself.

“You know Spanish?” Alejandro asked the three of you, though you’d barely been able to open your mouth to speak before Soap cut you off, answering for you.

“No.” Soap flashed you a look, a warning with a single look.

You knew that Captain Price had assigned you to act as translator, however Soap and Ghost hadn’t yet wanted to let that information slip. Not yet, at least.

“You will…” Alejandro spoke with a smirk on his face, the Humvee pulling away from the airport, the chopper left behind momentarily.

“Welcome to Mexico, private.” Soap nudged you, a smirk of his toying on his lips.

[thezombieprostitute]

I’m curious, too, if Alejandro and Rudy are feeling the effects! Everyone seems so good at being able to hide or compartmentalize. Honestly, I’m glad Reader still gets nervous before missions, this is only her fourth one. I imagine it takes a lot before you really get to Soap and Ghost’s levels.

And thanks for that last line! I really liked that!

Happier Than Ever

Part 4: Fate Thou Art Twisted

“My base is your base.” The words were reminiscent of what Colonel Vargas had said before, when Ghost mentioned Commander Graves of the Shadows assisting in finding Hassan.

The join task force would hunt Hassan down in the hills he was hiding in, leaving no single crevice in that hideout uncovered. There was no probability of failing, this mission had to be a success, and whatever missiles Hassan had, needed to be found.

With the weight of more than just American lives on the line, the task given by General Shepherd and Laswell couldn’t afford any small measure of force. There would have to be an unseemly pressure put on Hassan and the hills he was hiding in.

“You good for this?” Soap had questioned you again, as if you had the opportunity to back down, as if you could change your mind and head back to the US. “You’re heading into gunfire.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Your heart was racing, and dread had settled in your stomach. It was your 4th mission with Ghost & Soap, and you’d yet to gather or steel your nerves. Not like they had, and not how you particularly should have.

You followed Soap & Ghost into the armoury, standing nearby as they grabbed ammunition and assault rifles, checking the weapons over. There was no shortage of artillery here, heavy and handheld weapons to kill or disarm, another necessary adage to the mission.

While you were a medic, and you had completed your nursing degree, you weren’t necessarily a soldier. You had gone through your 6 weeks basic training, you had learned to survive in a war zone, as best as Alex Keller could teach you.

You had gone through your crash courses, you had gone through as much training to solidify your skills as a combat medic. Pushing yourself through every necessary test to get your rank as private, you hadn’t faltered.

You completed your training, but you were not like Soap & Ghost. You wanted to put your focus on keeping them alive, on keeping them breathing.

“Take the damn gun.” A smaller rifle was handed to you, an order from Ghost.

As your CO, he had been responsible for yourself and Soap, and any fatalities were purely his responsibility. “And keep your head on straight.”

“An XM7,” Soap had spoken over Ghost, tapping the barrel of the gun with his fingers, twice, and then looked over his shoulder, “sergeant Parra is taking you to the med-bay. Get whatever supplies you need, we leave in 10.”

He already had his gear on, with the Kevlar bulletproof vest that bared the flag of his country, his rank, and the emblem belonging to Los Vaqueros. His vest was similar to Ghost & Soap’s, the indicators that would lead anyone to know that they were soldiers.

Unlike the soldiers' bulletproof vests, your tactical vest was emboldened with MEDIC, in English, in bright white letters at the front, with MÉDICO, in Spanish, below.

As on the front, there were the same distinguishing patches on the back of your vest, accompanied by a caduceus, a snake, and a pair of wings to symbolize your status as a healer rather than a fighter. A commonality among the three of you was the flag from your countries, a patch that identified just how international this mission was.

“Leave in ten.” You nodded your head, acknowledging the order Ghost had given you, and then you stepped toward Sergeant Major Parra.

He was waiting for you, and had reviewed you once, before he directed his attention behind him with a nod of his head.

When you first approached, you noticed his hands were held behind his back, though when he began walking with you, they dropped to his sides. As you walked with relative silence between you, you glanced over at him, rather of the identifying soulmate mark on his wrists.

One, you noted, was already emboldened and lined with black. One of the phrases was securely etched into his skin, as usual with marks like that, meaning he had found one; however, there was another out there.

You diverted your attention once you had reached the doors of the med-bay. The small clinic was dark upon your approach, something that had been rectified when you’d stepped inside. The automatic lights turned on, and you were greeted with shelves upon shelves of medical equipment.

“Take what you need.” Rudy Parra had leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you, waiting for you to gather some things.

“Yes sir.” You stepped toward one shelf, looking over the different kinds of bandages and gauze there was, and then further to the threads for stitching.

You grabbed what supplies you hadn’t already had, mostly newer gauze and bandages, some cold compresses and extra thread, before you took a side-eye toward the narcan. You reached for the glass vial, looking over the label before you closed your fingers around the bottle and shoved it into your bag.

“You don’t seem like the type to be in a fight like this,” Rudy’s voice had caught you off guard, and you’d looked over your shoulder toward him.

“I’ve got more interest in being a medic, or combat nurse, than I do physically being caught in gunfire. But… I’ve always wanted to be in medicine, I’ve always wanted to be a nurse.” You moved down the shelves and then hummed under your breath.

“Looking for something?” His accent was light, his voice was relatively calm as he stepped further into the med-bay, closer to you.

“Necesito un frasco de morfina.” It was just natural for you to ask in Spanish, given that he was a native-born Spanish speaker, and you’d never questioned yourself until Rudy looked at it with furrowed brows.

“Hablas español?” He reached above you, grabbing a few glass vials of the drug you were looking for, handing them down to you.

“Yeah, I’m… I wouldn’t say I’d be as fluent as someone who was born in Mexico, but I learned Spanish from the time I was 7 to 18.” You thanked him and placed the vials into your bag, feeling at odds with yourself for letting your second language slip.

“Es necesario en los Estados Unidos, no?” He didn’t question why you weren’t forthright with your ability to speak Spanish, rather, he’d questioned you about something related.

“The United States has a lot of Spanish speakers in the country. I don’t know if it's mandatory to learn it in school in every district, county or state, but in my school it was.” You took another look around the med-bay, double-checking your supplies and what you’d taken, before you zipped the top.

“Tu español es muy bueno.” Rudy held the door open for you when you finished.

“Gracias.” You stepped by him as he allowed you to step out first. It was while you were stepping by him that you tilted your head, eyeing the edges of his second soulmate mark.

The words were lined with an edge faint black, as if he had come in proximity to his soulmate, but the words themselves weren’t spoken. They were in Spanish, and while you had said the words in your head, you whispered them under your breath.

“Todo puede ser lanzado al aire al menos una vez?” You whispered faintly under your breath, almost entirely incomprehensible.

You glanced toward the mark again and then looked away, your eyes drawn toward Soap & Ghost as they stood by the fleet of humvee’s. They were geared up, as usual, bearing weapons that were far more formidable than your own, even though yours had the same potential to maim and kill.

“PT!” Soap called your rank from across the open space, directing you toward a series of vehicles parked and waiting. “Move your ass!”

“Yes sir!” You walked directly to your CO’s, your gun by your side and ammo stashed in the pockets of your tactical vest.

There was a certain amount of tension in the base that was directly tied to the mission to find Hassan. It was a tension that overshadowed any previous anxiety you had, with the knowledge that this could be someone’s last day breathing.

This could be your last day breathing.

“Get your head screwed on right, lass. This could get ugly.” Upon approaching Soap, he motioned with a single nod to get into the vehicle beside Ghost, the position open for you.

You’d tossed your bag to the floor of the humvee and climbed inside, taking your place beside Ghost, while another soldier had taken his place to the right of you.

Ten minutes had been enough time for you to grab what you needed, to secure necessary and life-saving tools to keep them safe. It was also enough time for you to reveal yourself as someone who could not only understand Spanish but speak it fluently enough to carry a conversation.

You hadn’t been aware of Soap or Ghost wanting you to keep your ability to speak Spanish a secret forever. Nevertheless, there was a certain expectation that you’d act as their translator, and it was impossible to do so without someone, at some point, knowing you were bilingual.

“You good, kid?” Soap turned in the front passenger seat, looking back at you as Colonel Vargas drove. “You ready for this?”

“You’re three years older than me, if you call me kid, can I call you senile?” Your back and forth with Soap was ordinary for the two of you.

It was partially due to his boyish charm that never faded, and your relationship that was like brother and sister. You were friends, but it also felt like you were family.

Your comment drew a cold response from Ghost, a side-eye that you had grown used to when in his company. At this point, you hadn’t even known if he was aware of what he was doing, or if it was some natural reaction to the people around him.

However, if Ghost had given you a dirty look, then Soap was almost gleeful about the comment.

He had laughed, as he usually did, and shook his head, flipping you off over his shoulder. He was eased, far more than you were, yet not as calculated as Ghost was at the moment. He was the neutral point between the two of you, the balance between your anxiety laced anticipation and Ghost’s cold composure.

The drive away from the compound and base was quick. The trip toward the hills outside the city, that had been overrun by the Cartel and had been the hiding place of Hassan, had taken less than twenty minutes. The overhanging cliff side and rolling hills had come upon you, with a single road in and out of the encompassing stronghold.

As the vehicles had come to a stop, Colonel Vargas voice came through the earpiece in your right ear, the order firm. “Team leaders circle up on me. Weapons hot Vaqueros. Let’s move.”

You had followed Ghost out of the humvee, your medical bag and supplied thrown across your shoulder to drape on your hip. The XM7 rifle was heavier than you anticipated now that you were on the cusp of the first assault to find Hassan.

“You’re with me, private.” Ghost addressed with his usual calculated and neutral tone, an order that you couldn’t disregard.

You regarded his order with a nod of your head, and adjusted your grip on your rifle. You’d been placed here as a medic and your job was to keep them alive, you had the tools and the training to save their lives to the best of your ability in the field.

You had 6 weeks of basic training, you had been taught how to handle weapons. Alex Keller had taught you everything he could in six weeks to prepare yourself for missions like this. It was always a possibility that you would have to lean more into the military training rather than medical, and this was one of the moments you had been trained for.

Regardless of whether you wanted to classify yourself as a soldier or not, you were going to have to defend yourself if someone had come upon you without being stopped by the soldiers that had come before you.

“Where are they holding Hassan?” Soap approached Alejandro and Rudy, and almost immediately got an answer.

“White two-story building. Back of town.” Alejandro raised his hand, directing Soap’s attention to the village tucked behind 7 foot white sun-stained walls.

With the direction given, the soldiers had begun to move, their weapons raised and their guards up. They approached the first gate that kept the village contained, a thick wooden double set of doors that had remained barricaded.

“Todos los vencedores en espera.” Alejandro had spoken into the comm system, his voice echoing in your head as you approached the last soldier, hanging behind like you had usually done.

“Tres, dos, uno...ejecutar.... ejecutar!” The order was given, and the doors had been kicked open, the soldiers pouring into the compound.

A sense of resolve had taken over every sense you had, and your instincts lead you. You tuned out the world, centred your mind, and followed Ghost and Soap as they stormed the abandoned town like planned.

The houses were empty and used as storehouses or labs for whatever the cartel wanted. The civilians had fled the town, no safety within the walls of the village that was now taken over by the Las Almas Cartel.

“Down! Get down!” The first rounds of gunfire erupted, and you ducked behind cover as commanded, the tang of smoke from the ammunition spent stinging your nose.

This, all this around you, was the shadowy underbelly of the beautiful city.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

You kept yourself quiet, studious as you dug through your bag and compartmentalized the hours between hitting the ground in Las Almas, and the moment you were in now. The gunfire in the abandoned village had resulted in finding out that Hassan had been there in the hideout, until he was moved.

Further up the river and in a secondary hideout is where they had found him hiding, with the assistance of Commander Graves and the Shadow Company. The joint Taskforce had succeeded in securing the terrorist to be questioned; however, there was little to be said about the methods of interrogation he may be hit with.

You had done the task given to you, you had succeeded being a combat nurse after another gunfight. Bullets were removed, gashes and wounds were secured and cleaned, and no one had lost their lives. It was a “success” by the standard; however, there was more to this task than anyone had even known.

You, as you sat on the sidelines and dug through your bag, had rattled nerves. It wasn’t just due to the gunfight you’d survived, it wasn’t just a circumstantial effect of patching up soldiers in the field.

No, this was something entirely different. And when all eyes were off you, you looked at your arms and felt your chest constrict.

“Maldito cabrón,” had been harshly yelled through the gunfire by the leader of Los Vaqueros, a fact that hadn’t hit you until you had a moment to think.

“Maldito hijo de puta,” had come through the communication system, something spoken by a voice you thought was Rudy Parra’s.

Both men, both Mexican special forces officers, had spoken the keywords to solidify themselves as your soulmates. And those key identifying words were ensconced in thick black lines, emboldened and complete. It was a moment that was life altering, coming at the worst possible time for you, and for them.

Still, you remained quiet about this revelation, and you distracted yourself by paying attention to the brief interrogation of Hassan, and the sound of his feet being dragged across the gravel. The only light had come from the yellow hued headlights of the truck and humvee that were driven here, one of which was Hassan’s escort.

“On your knees.” Soap had grabbed Hassan’s right arm, escorting him to the focal point before a camera as Alejandro removed his hood.

“Y’all got a clear picture?” Graves crouched under in front of a truck, adjusting the angle to get Hassan completely unveiled by the camera.

“Crystal.” General Shepherds voice echoed through the comm, and you leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, hands tucked under your chin.

“All set.” Laswell was the next to speak, the next to address in this interrogation effort, while Hassan was kept hostage.

“Alright. We are live, folks.” Commander Graves stood straight and walked toward Hassan, almost arrogantly, before stopping in front of him.

You were aware of Ghost’s position near the back of the truck, a position he took as a guard in case Hassan decided to bolt. Soap and Alejandro were standing behind Hassan, far enough away not to distort any recognition tactics.

“You speak Arabic?” Hassan’s hands were held behind his back, a set of stiff cuffs keeping him bound.

“No.” Graves stopped in front of Hassan, hands on his hips and a look of compressed disapproval on his face.

“Farsi?” Hassan’s lips began to form a smirk, another arrogant expression that was almost fitting for the mad bastard.

“No.” Graves replied with annoyance, and as he did, you could hear howling coyotes and the noises of nature at night in the background.

It was another reminder that although beautiful, there was more wilderness to this place than you realized.

“Of course not. Then I’ll speak your bastardized Medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs.” He looked around at you all, that same cocky half-smirk on his face, even as Graves stepped closer.

“Ahh, see...we’re getting off to a bad start, Hassan.” Graves, ever disappointed, kicked some gravel toward Hassan and shook his head.

“You’re talking to a Quds Force officer.”

“You're the commander of a foreign terror organization.” Graves continued the interrogation, a sight that you had briefly tuned out when you looked back at your wrists, and the soulmate identifying words that had now become a reality.

Fate had decided that it was time for you all to be intertwined. Fate, the fickle bitch, was not going to wait any longer and this was the time for you three to come together.

Regardless of circumstances or opportune timing.

Wildlife and coyotes yipped again, signalling more scurrying from the distance as the night carried on. You had lifted your head, directing your attention from the soulmate marks to the man being questioned. The terrorist still on his knees while Soap and Alejandro were nearby.

“I’m a hostage here, this is illegal.”

“You’re a prisoner of war.” Alejandro’s accent and husky voice had drawn your attention to the fearless leader, and dull heat boiled in your stomach as the recognition re-centred itself.

“Iran is not at war with Mexico. I’ve broken no laws. These men and their commanders are the lawbreakers.” He pulled against Alejandro’s hand, tugging twice before he was settled back into a place of submission at the colonels hands.

“You and your beloved general Ghorbani broke every—“ Soap had spoken, and a physical and verbal reaction from Hassan had made both men nearly lose their hold on him.

Hassan had stood with rage, he spoke with fury as he cut Soap off. “DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME!”

“You executed him, and you will pay for your crimes—“ Hassan had looked at Soap, at all of you, like you were the scum of the earth.

You averted your eyes and shifted positions where you sat, just as heat blistered your stomach from the inside out. It was a visceral reaction to the settling bond that had been melded. Nothing more complicated than breathing, it was almost as natural.

The curse words in Spanish, inked on your skin as a gift from Fate, had now been completely visible and strengthened after being spoken. You wondered if you had managed to say the trigger words for them. If you’d managed to give them what they needed to feel this same heat.

“—without proof, we need to turn him loose, see where he leads.” Shepherd spoke again, a kind of finality in his tone.

“He’s right here, you can’t be serious.” Soap had taken an approach you knew was palatable, one that even you had felt.

If they let him go, would they find him again?

“Did we get anything from his phone?” Ghost spoke after looking down at the phone in his hands and then glancing toward the camera.

Laswell had remained silent for a single moment before she replied with something good, something minutely hopeful. “Affirmative. We got a hit.”

“Good, now take him back and let him go.” Shepherds order was forcibly accepted, and with a nod of his head, Ghost had signalled to Alejandro.

The bag was pulled, with force, over Hassan’s head and the terrorist was yanked to his feet. “Hasta el culo. vamos.”

He was being led away by Alejandro, the interrogation over. With this whole incident wrapped up open-ended, you had also risen to your feet. You yanked your medic bag up from the gravel road and slung the strap over your shoulder, feeling the thud against your hip.

“You really have to let him go?” You questioned Ghost, glancing slowly from Soap to himself, stepping toward the vehicle. “That’s bullshit.”

“That’s an order.” Ghost spoke plainly, matter-of-factly, tugging on the door handle to the truck. “Get your ass inside.”

“Todo puede ser lanzado al aire al menos una vez.” You muttered under your breath as you got into the truck, sliding to the rear driver's side.

“English, L/N.” Ghost took the rear passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

“Everything can be airdropped at least once.”

[thezombieprostitute]

That bad joke reminded me of another: everything can be air dropped at least once!

Really liking the slow burn here. I'm recognizing stuff from the game cut scenes! You're doing a really good job of incorporating Reader into it.

Happier Than Ever

Part 3: An American, A Brit & A Scotsman

Alex Keller, by the bequest of Laswell, had personally gotten you through the 6 weeks of basic training that was necessary.

Alex Keller was the soldier who had worked with Captain Price and had been part of the 141, had tasked with getting you up to speed and ready for the first mission.

In between your time with Alex Keller, wherein you learned orders and combat skills, dependency on your teammates, and how to handle a weapon, you worked in the base hospital.

You were put through constant scenarios and training exercises that had almost broken you. The exercises that detailed what you could live through in the field, what you could have thrown at you, were the focus of your time in the medical hospital on base.

For 6 weeks, you’d been given crash courses on how to survive and deal with the life-threatening conditions of these places you could go to. And with each difference scenario you were thrown into, had been a potential breaking point for you.

Although you had done four years of medial school, and you were a registered nurse, you weren’t prepared to be thrown headfirst into combat medicine.

Your degree as a registered nurse had been encompassed with techniques that were meant to be implemented in the field. It was a complete mindset change for you, to be thrown into this necessary urgency to work as fast as possible while knowing that people would be shooting at you.

Regardless of your fear, regardless of your apprehension of working alongside a covert and deadly squad of soldiers, multinational as they were, you had been prepared as best as you possibly could be.

The first mission you were on had taken you somewhere close to the Russian border, the task of keeping the squad of soldiers alive as they hunted down a nationalist hellbent on destructive weapons entering the Ukrainian border, before being sent to the U.S. You’d attended the mission as one of two medics, thrown headfirst into the dangerous, and potentially illegal, task of finding the enemy.

It was on that first mission that you had felt true, raw fear. You were a medic, a combat nurse, and you had soldiers between you and the enemy; however, you weren’t shielded completely. The other medic you were with had been shot in the leg, a wound that you’d had to take care of while being mindful of being shot yourself.

When the mission was over, Laswell had asked you if you’d wish to continue, if you’d want to change your mind about working for this specific task force. Your mind and body were at odds. Although you had negated leaving because despite being shot at, despite the other medic having an injury that would later require surgery, you’d been stubborn enough to stick around,

The first mission had become two, and two had become three. Now, you were on your fourth with Ghost & Soap and this, despite all the risks, was all you thought you’d wanted to do. This, with the potential of death, was a job you wanted to do.

You understood that their task force and their missions couldn’t have been reduced to a simple case of black or white. There was an incredibly shady area that had hovered above the moral compass that allotted them to go into hell and back to save more people than would even know.

It wasn’t a conscienceless squad that had killed anyone in their sights, it was a chain of command and men and women themselves who had given their all. It was sacrifice and the knowledge that they may not live the next day, that they’d surrendered themselves to.

That you would, in some similar way, allot yourself to.

Laswell had been the one to recruit you; however, Captain Price had been the one to officially concede and have you part of the 141. Regardless of you being a soldier or not, you were a small part of their team, and they were a much bigger part of yours.

You depended on them far more than they had depended on you. Yet, if things had become fucked up in any sense, you would be responsible for trying to keep them alive until they could reach a doctor.

Mission 4 with you working closely with Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley had taken you to Las Almas. And Las Almas was nothing like you had expected, even from a first initial impression.

The first blast of heat that hit you when you stepped off the ramp had been overshadowed easily by the streets that the Humvee was being driven down.

The streets that were laid with cobblestone and concrete, edges with brightly coloured buildings and overhanging trees or fauna, was undercut with dark and tempestuous control. The Las Almas Cartel had a sick hold on the city, one that you’d been warned about from Laswell & Price, and would see its hand now.

“White truck, four armed men in the back.” Soap’s voice was quiet, yet he warned Ghost, the lieutenant flexing his fingers against the belly of his gun.

You looked back over your shoulder at the passing vehicle, the white truck had been during down the road before turning the corner. Each man in the back had a rifle of some kind, all the men seemingly relaxed enough like it was a regular occurrence. Almost as if it were as normal as carrying a cellphone.

“Hey, tranquilo. Easy, that’s normal here.” Colonel Vargas had raised a hand to calm the building tension, and to reiterate the difference between Las Almas and everything else you’d seen before. “Guns on the street is the jurisdiction of the police.”

“Where are the police?” As Ghost questioned Alejandro, you leaned forward and looked out the window Soap was sitting beside, seeing a large and emboldened image of the Virgin Mary on a building, and on top of her image was El Sin Nombre written in black letters.

“Well, Las Almas has a very serious problem. There are few here to uphold the law. And many of those who resist corruption disappear.” Alejandro had spoken so calmly when he spoke of the disappearances, this every day occurrence to men like them was almost no different from experiences you’d had in the U.S.

Hearing of shootings almost daily in the US had been common to you, just as these disappearances were common to them.

“What about the military?” Soap set a hand on your shoulder and pulled you back to sit again, his eyes briefly locking on yours before he looked back at Alejandro.

“Well, because we are well-trained, soldiers are recruited by the narcos.” Another fact, another plain statement that was so common for men like Alejandro and Rudy.

“Why not you?” Ghost and Soap were carrying the conversation while you remained quiet. You were observant, trying to catch as much of the streets of Las Almas as you could.

“We grew up here. They call us Los Vaqueros…cowboys.” Alejandro had looked toward Rudy, the two of them sharing a single glance, almost communicating without words. “We love this place, and we will die fighting for it.”

As the vehicle turned a corner, you’d leaned forward again. You watched a father and his child buying a balloon, a sight which would have been common if it hadn't had been the armed man standing behind the child. The assault rifle in his hands was held down but tightly, and he had worn a skull balaclava like Ghost had borne.

“Kids, guns and balloons, that’s new.” Soap, side-eyed Ghost, his voice holding an edge.

“Think that’s more common than you think.” You finally spoke, muttering under your breath as you took another look at the scene unfolding.

“Narcos use generosity to win over the people.” Alejandro had nodded his head, understanding Soap’s reaction but adding further details into how corrupt the city was.

“Even the children?” It was a shared sentiment, though not one that you could say you’d gone without seeing.

Although not to this extent, with the US having the right to bear arms written in the Declaration of Independence, you could honestly say that you had witnessed men and women carrying guns around state fairs and celebrations while kids ran wild. It was a different atmosphere here however than it was back home, and this had carried with it a weight of corruption unheard of.

“Especially the children….” Rudys voice had carried to the back, and you’d heard him speak but hadn’t registered what he said.

Rather, your attention was grabbed by another image of the Virgin Mary on the side of the building, and a scene in an alley that made your skin crawl.

“What the fuck?” You cursed louder than anticipated, leaning forward to see first hand the taunting nature of this cartel with your own eyes. “What the fuck is that?”

In the back alley was an old truck with its tailgate down and a white cloth covered in black painted letters, the message was no less chilling than it was debilitating. On the stone road had laid two bodies, covered with the same white cloth and black lettered message.

“Narcomantas,” Alejandro rolled down the window of the Humvee, his eyes trained on the grisly sight.

“Cartel cloths,” Rudy had looked through the rearview mirror, catching your gaze as he spoke to you.

“Messages from El Sin Nombre. Warnings, marking territory. Our streets are laced with death.” The window, just as soon as it was rolled down, was rolled up again, and the vehicles started moving.

“Who’s Sin Nombre?” Ghost’s thick accent had bared the question, and it hung in the air for a few milliseconds before Alejandro corrected him.

“El Sin Nombre, the Nameless…the leader of the Las Almas Cartel.”

“Where can we find him?” Soap’s focus was aimed forward, while yours was trained on the streets. You couldn’t stop looking at the death, and the corruption they’d spoken of that bled through every seemingly endless faction of this city.

“You can’t. No one knows who he is.” Alejandro looked out the window, an image belonging to El Sin Nombre appearing on the side of a building.

It was different from the ones before. Instead of the Virgin Mary, this image was crafted and created with flowers and bright colours that drew your attention. It looked entirely unseemly, and if you’d not known about the Las Almas cartel, you would’ve almost admired the images that were painted on that old brick.

“And this is a challenge. But Los Vaqueros like challenges.”

“With your mask, you’ll fit in well here, Ghost.” Rudy, attempting to steer the conversation, had spoken in the small moment of silence.

Soap had raised his hand and waved it in front of his neck, a signal not to push the issue, as Ghost glanced toward Rudy. You had snorted softly and laughed under your breath, remembering shortly before that Sergeant Major Rudy Parra had expressed his fear of ghosts.

“Something funny, private?” Soap grinned, nudging you when he heard you laugh. His blue eyes settled on you expectantly.

“Nothing, Sergeant.” you returned the respect for rank and cleared your throat. “Stupid joke.”

Your time spent with Soap and Ghost as their medic, more than most others in the 141, had led to an eased relationship between you and Soap. He wasn’t just your CO, he was also your friend and took the role of an older brother. In a sense, despite only being a few years older than you.

“Fuck, now you gotta share.” Soap’s natural charm had easily won over most people he had met and if you hadn’t seen him in uniform or known he was in the army, you’d never suspected a thing.

“It’s so stupid.” You looked away from him, laughing under your breath again.

“Now you gotta tell me.” Soap nudged you again. “Come on, don’t hold out.”

“You don’t need a parachute to go skydiving. You need a parachute to go skydiving twice.” You laughed under your breath, again.

“That was shit.” Soap laughed regardless of your stupid joke, the two of you conversing between each other in the back, and without needing to turn you could feel Ghost glaring at you.

“I told you it was a stupid joke!” You defended yourself, a moment of eased tension in the Humvee, until the vehicle had come to a slow roll.

“Checkpoint. It’s the army, turn right, and we’ll go around.” There was a barricade in the street with armed soldiers on either side of the entrance further down the street, blocking off any access.

As the vehicle was turned, you took another look out the window at the armoured vehicles behind the barricades. The soldiers who were waiting even further behind the checkpoint with unseen weapons to destroy and eliminate anyone who didn’t pass their inspection.

“Why?” Soap questioned the change, and received a response that was spoken with that same fact-of-life energy as before.

“Some troops are in the pocket of El Sin Nombre. Like I told you, he is everywhere…” There was a beat of silence, half a moment where the weight of his news had settled upon the three of you, and then he spoke again.

“The Cartel is hiding Hassan in the village across the river. Let’s hope he’s still there.” The vehicles picked up speed as the street cleared again, the destination was first going to be Los Vaqueros base.

There was intel they would need at the base, along with a scourge of weapons that would be waiting for both Soap & Ghost. There was no shortage of preparation for this mission, no small risk about following them into gunfire despite you being the medic responsible for keeping them alive.

Regardless of the hell that was being unleashed within Las Almas at the hands of the cartel, the city, and its surroundings, itself were beautiful.

The landscape of the surrounding hills had been captivating on its own without the lush, thick greenery that encapsulated the landscape. You hadn’t gotten a look at the ocean as you were transported to the city, however you imagined that the waters were just as wondrous and captivating as the rest of the country.

You wished you could’ve seen the nature and beauty of Mexico without being here to help track down a terrorist. Furthermore, you’d wished you could’ve spent days and weeks on the water, or near it, feeling the sun on your skin without the weight of your bulletproof vest on your chest and shoulders.

“It’s beautiful here.” Your comment had been aired, despite you thinking it was kept in your head.

“Las Almas is a beautiful but dangerous city.” Sergeant Major Rudy Parra had met your comment with one of his own, and had looked at you in the rearview mirror. “Have any of you been to mexico before?”


“Private here always wanted to go.” Soap nudged you, grinning from ear to ear. “Though I think you’d rather be on a beach somewhere.”

“Yeah, with your head on a pike.” Your back and forth was mutually beneficial, despite the rank and the years of service between you. “Asshole.”

“So temperamental, PT!” Soap’s voice matched his laugh, especially after you’d struck him in the shoulder with your fist. “Maybe you need to sit on a beach somewhere.”

“You first!” You grit your teeth, all conversation dying when the vehicles had come to a slow stop in front of the gate that protected their base from any outside interference.

It was a momentary conversation between Sergeant Parra and the soldier guarding the gate, before it began to roll open and the humvee’s were allowed in.