Chapter Text
You never felt satisfied or content with your work, even as all of your coworkers arrived to work each day with a smile on their face. They made your time at the CIA feel like home, as they smiled and cracked jokes that never seemed to make it past your strictly professional demeanor.
You only had one objective in each of your tasks: get in, get out.
That is what made you the best at what you did, espionage and infiltration. Everyone knew it.
Your coworkers gave you a nickname that stuck. "Pierce," for the way you always seemed to pierce the heart of foreign operations yet their attempts to connect you always failed to pierce the cold shell you methodically constructed.
One of your superiors, Kate Laswell, was able to see it in your eyes. See your ache for more action , for more danger , with each time you concealed your handgun and instead chose to dive headfirst into the fray.
One mission went catastrophically wrong. What was supposed to be a peaceful intelligence collection resulted in a bloodbath. You watched as your coworkers and friends died, while the bang of your firearm cut off the shouts of Konni forces. One by one, you ended up being the only survivor, carving your way out of the chaos and back into safety.
When exfil arrived, you had a crazed look in your eye. Doctors evaluated you for shock. They found nothing. You were simply at home in the gunfire, adrenaline driving you to greatness and back.
You needed something different. Now, Kate Laswell knows it.
That's how communications with Captain John Price of the infamous Task Force 141 arrived at the topic of you when he requested an additional member to help pull the weight. The "Makarov Issue," as he so adeptly put it, was expanding far out of the scope of the current team.
Now, Laswell is seated in front of Captain Price in his office on the Task Force's main base. She places your file on his desk and flips it open, allowing the Captain to peruse through the various pages at his leisure.
"Current CIA, looking for a change in position. Specializes in espionage and infiltration, extremely skilled in gun combat," she supplements as Price scrutinizes the files on his desk, staring at the photo of you as if it would cause you to manifest in the room with him.
Price speaks no words for at least five minutes as he reads each and every word of your file. He recognizes the look in your eyes—he saw it in Soap when he selected him as one of the members of the Task Force—determined, hungry for more. Ready to throw your life on the line if it means pushing your limits.
He sees your potential. He needs no more convincing.
"Let's do it," Price says quietly, his gaze lifting to meet Laswell's. Plastered on her face is a small smile that tells him that she knew he would agree. That she knew you would be the perfect candidate.
That's how you ended up on the tarmac, holding a black duffel bag with your most essential clothing and memorabilia. Truth be told, you are nervous. Being referred to them by an influential member of the CIA must mean that they hold high expectations of you and your work, and you feel your hands grow clammy at the idea that you may not live up to their ideals, their standards, and that they would send you home as soon as you got here. Yet, you are exhilarated. This may be the best opportunity you have been given in your life, and you need to prove yourself. You will prove yourself.
As the jet behind you grows further and further away, and the building that they called their base grows closer and closer, your nerves only intensify further. Laswell had important business to attend to elsewhere, so she could not accompany you to meet with the Captain and the rest of the team. You are left alone to make a good impression, convince them of your value and skill.
This is your first time stepping foot directly onto a foreign military base, and truth be told, it is exactly like you expected. Structures built for efficiency, rather than appearance. A methodical layout to boot, allowing even the most inept of people to navigate its corridors. You can't help but get a little lost in your thoughts as you navigate to the Captain's office following Laswell's instructions.
The sharp rapping of your knuckles on the door of Captain Price's office signals your arrival, and pulls you from your thoughts and back into reality. His gruff voice calls out to you, "Come in."
You drop your hand down to the doorknob and press open the door, stepping into the dimly lit office. For a brief moment, you do nothing but stand in the doorway, eyes scanning every corner of the office as you take it in. It is nice. Bookshelves filled with books lined the walls, and a mahogany desk stood in the middle of the room, with Captain Price seated behind it. On his desk is your file, flipped open to the first page where you can spot your photo adorning the top. It is a little uncanny to stare yourself in the eyes, and even more so to realize that your photo, and the words on the file, are all that you are boiled down to. They explain your life story, details you thought you never shared with anyone, yet the CIA held the information regardless.
You set down your duffel bag next to his desk before seating yourself across from him, clasping your hands together in your lap, fidgeting idly as you wait for him to speak. Your anxious habit is masked by the desk, which you are extremely thankful for. You wish to paint yourself as a confident man, one who will face any challenge with reverence and dedication.
"Name, age, current occupation?" He begins with the basics, confirming your identity first and foremost.
You give him your name, "but my coworkers call me Pierce. Twenty-seven, I am a specialized officer with the United States CIA." Your eyes meet his, and his gaze bores into your soul as if he could pry your life story only from the stare that the two of you share. You refuse to be the first to break eye contact, which you are thankfully relieved from as he shifts his gaze back to your file.
"What makes you want to leave the CIA and instead work for us? It seems to be a pretty secure position, no?" Price presses, flipping idly through the pages of your file.
"Too secure," you breathe out, before elaborating. "I get some action with my position, but truthfully, it isn't enough for my liking. One of my missions ended in catastrophe, but I couldn't help but feel as if I was made to be on the front lines, in the danger. I am sure Laswell has given you the details."
You feel vulnerable sharing your intentions and inner thoughts, your dissatisfaction with your previous position. To your relief, Price lets out a small chuckle at your words. "We most definitely aren't short of action around here. Don't worry, you will see plenty of it."
You give a small smile to Captain Price, the flicker of determination returning to your gaze, replacing the previous anxiety.
"What do you specialize in with the CIA?" Right, you forgot to elaborate on that part .
"Espionage and infiltration, sir. I have undergone several missions adopting a different identity in order to obtain intel, all of which have been classified as a success. I am sure you can find more information in my file, everything I have yet to share is outlined there."
You never understood the importance of these questions when you are certain that he knows the answers already, yet you hope your impatience goes unnoticed by him.
It doesn't.
Price notices just how you itch to get moving, to hit the ground running. He knows you will get along with Soap just fine, the two of you are more alike in that way than either of you would like to admit.
"We have a briefing at 0800 hours tomorrow morning," Price starts, shuffling around in his pocket to pull out a key, "and a key to your room. I trust you will be able to find your way around?"
With a nod and a smile, you take the key from Price's outstretched hand and pick up your duffle bag. Pocketing the key, you outstretch your right hand to shake his hand, which he returns.
"Thank you, sir, for your time and the opportunity. I will see you tomorrow," you bid him farewell with a wave and close the door behind you as you leave.
The echoes of boisterous voices lead you towards the common room after you have finished unpacking your clothes and belongings into your room. While you are used to having a large room in your apartment, you are simply happy not to be roomed in the barracks and instead have privacy in your own room.
One voice is unmistakable amongst the rest, a Scotsman shouting something as he clearly lost a round of a video game. You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. These people are certainly about to be an interesting bunch to get to know.
You poke your head into the bright common room, and it takes only a second before all three of them turn to you, pausing their game. You meet each of their gazes, recognizing each of them from the small description that Laswell had given you before boarding the plane here.
Seated at the rightmost end of the couch is Ghost, the masked lieutenant. Though you already knew he donned a skull mask, it still looks a little off-putting. Does he ever take a break from it? You are sure he thinks that it's intimidating, and in any other context it would be. However, having him seated on the plush couch playing video games really throws into question the intimidation factor.
Next to him is Soap, the Scotsman, sporting his certainly-out-of-regulation mohawk. He has an almost smug look on his face, which certainly matches the description that Laswell gave you of him. Not knowing that Price thought the same thing, you realize just how much you see yourself in his determined stare. His eyes sparkle like he found purpose in his work, and you can only hope that you find the same.
Finally, next to Soap, is Gaz. His expression isn't war-hardened like Ghost's, but you know that he has experienced the same tragedies that he has. His brown eyes are kind, and he gives you a small smile as you make eye contact. He seems nice.
Soap speaks up first. "Price said we would 'ave a new member, but he didn't say anything about that new member being today ."
You laugh quietly, stepping into the room and seating yourself on the chair furthest away from the rest of them bunched together on the couch in front of the television. You choose to introduce yourself with the name your coworkers had given you.
"Name's Pierce. Price said that I would be undergoing a week-long trial period with you guys, so if you hate me," you lift your hands in a mock-surrender, 'it is what it is' gesture.
Soap groans, "Not another American. I swear, ya better not be anything like Graves."
His words elicit a small laugh from Gaz, and a matching groan from the masked lieutenant. Ghost wastes no time before speaking. "Please do not bring him up while we are relaxing. I have had enough with that man."
"I could say the very same thing for you guys and the two Brits amongst you. But, do tell, what happened with Graves?" You interject, hoping to pry a little more information about their lives and their past out of them. You don't miss the look that Ghost shoots Soap, clearly telling him ' I told you not to bring him up .' Yet, Soap wastes no time in filling you in and complaining about the man.
"Double crossed us, shot me in Mexico, sent his whole team of Shadows after Ghost and me. It's a long story, lad."
You're downright shocked to hear this information, especially knowing that you have worked with Graves in the past. You weren't ever close with him or his team, but you believed that he was relatively trustworthy. It's evident that you never saw the true side of him.
"Enough of him, though," Gaz speaks up this time, and you mutter a quiet 'make that three Brits' under your breath, "tell us about you. What do you do, where do you come from?" Soap snickers at your small comment, and you can't help but recognize the camaraderie budding between the two of you at just how outnumbered you are nationality-wise.
"Current, or I guess former, CIA. I was a specialized officer that worked in espionage and infiltration, so I actually ended up working alongside Graves more than once. I think there's probably a picture of us at some banquet after a mission gone well," you fill them in on pretty much the exact same information you told Price and that you are certain is also in your file.
"Says nothing about your combat experience though, does it, Pierce? Why d'they call ya that, anyway?" Soap comments, pressing for more information about you past the surface level.
"I always managed to pierce the heart of foreign operations through my infiltration. My information was crucial in many takedowns, so 'Pierce' is what stuck," you supply, your gaze meeting Ghost's as he looks at you. He gives you a nod, almost approvingly—it is hard to tell what he is thinking behind that mask.
"I didn't face combat too often in my position, but we had a mission go wrong. Ended up being a bloodbath; I was the only one who walked away. After that, Laswell knew I needed a transfer to somewhere else, to be more active," you elaborate, looking over to Soap to see if he deemed your answer satisfactory. To your relief, he nods.
"You'll need to tell us more about that story one day, yeah?" Soap asks.
"You can count on it."
The clock reads 0530 hours when you wake up the next morning. After a quick shower (you had a private bathroom, thank god you didn't need to risk the communal showers with the rest of the soldiers) and some food, you make your way to the shooting range. You have some time to kill before the briefing, and figure it is worth it to become familiar with the weapons the Task Force has at its disposal.
Your conversations with members of the Task Force went much more smoothly than previous conversations with coworkers in the CIA, despite how little time you have known them for. It is rare for you to feel as if you can get along with someone right off the bat, but even the Lieutenant doesn't scare you off. It feels easy to talk to and connect with each and every one of them.
The strong smell of gunpowder, smoke, and oil in the shooting range doesn't scare you off. What would be oppressive to some people is soothing to you. Not only is it a harbinger of the change to come in your line of work, but it also reminds you of the mission that you single-handedly brought back from complete and utter failure.
The mission where you pulled through and proved your capabilities, enough to give you a chance with this team.
Your hand grazes over each of the rifles present on the wall, noting their make and models as you pick which one to start with. None of them are ones you are expressly familiar with using in practice, provided that you used to be a part of an American-based team. Instead of the M16 you are familiar with, you are instead provided with an AK-47.
You grab it nonetheless, testing its weight in your hands. It's shorter, heavier, and has different sights on it than the M16. You aren't exactly un familiar with the AK-47, but it would not be your first choice.
Clearing your immediate surroundings to ensure the safety of yourself and others, you raise the rifle to aim down the sights, bracing the stock of it against your shoulder. You let out the breath you were holding before squeezing the trigger.
Your shot hits accurately in the dummy's head.
However, you stumble a bit at the recoil—it is significantly stronger than the recoil of the M16. You are thankful that you are the only person in the shooting range this early in the morning.
"Unfamiliar?" A gruff voice rings out from behind you, and you damn near jump out of your skin. Scratch that, you were not the only person in the shooting range this morning. Much like his name suggests, Ghost is, well, a ghost. Approaching silently and leaving no trace behind him.
"Damn European rifles. Please tell me you guys have something American made for me to use, like an M16," you complain, turning to look at Ghost as he approaches.
"Negative," Ghost chuckles out, reaching a hand to manually adjust your stance slightly. You allow him to position you in the way he sees fit. The stock of the rifle is settled a little higher on your shoulder this time, your stance a little wider, torso turned slightly. He steps back from you before giving you a nod and a muttered "try now."
You nod, letting out an exhale as you squeeze the trigger once again. The smell of gunpowder fills your nose once again, but you are much better prepared for the recoil this time and keep your body steady. You can't be certain whether it was because of Ghost's help or because you were simply ready this time, but you are thankful for his assistance nonetheless.
"Appreciate it, Lieutenant."
"Anytime."
Your first few missions with the Task Force go by without issues—simple tasks, really. Get in, get out, just as you had been trained. As you stand side by side with the men, you realize just how much you needed this. The thrill, the adrenaline, the risk of getting caught.
You still have things you need to learn. You aren't the best with your gun yet—at least when you're compared to the likes of Ghost and Soap—but you pull your weight. Make yourself useful in your strategy, quick thinking, and infiltration capabilities.
You recognize the soldiers and operatives that are stationed in each location you infiltrate. Konni. However, now you know about the man behind the operations, pulling the strings. Makarov. And now, after a month of reconnaissance with you on the team, you and the Task Force have a lead.
At 0750, you find your seat in the briefing room. You aren't the first one there—Price is standing by his computer getting things set up. He gives you a curt nod, which you return, as you roll your chair out from the desk and pull out your phone to kill time.
Ghost is followed by Gaz and Soap as they file into the briefing room and find their own seats. As the clock strikes 0800, Price clears his throat and stands tall, his computer being projected to the screen. You quickly stow your phone back into your pocket.
"Laswell has relayed information from MI6 stating that Vladimir Makarov and his Konni have been spotted in London, and it is only a matter of time before he makes a move. We have intel suggesting that he will meet up with a hacker today in Greensbury Park to conduct a deal, and our goal is to intercept the deal and collect what they may sell before it can fall in the hands of Makarov and his men."
Captain Price changes the slide to a map, which zooms in on the aforementioned Greensbury Park. At this, Gaz speaks up. "I'll coordinate with London Metro and get SFO standing by." Price nods in affirmation at his idea and begins to assign tasks to the members of the Task Force.
"Ghost, you will be on CCTV over-watch while Gaz and Soap tail the hacker and stop the deal from occurring." Price assigns duties to each of the Task Force members, and each of them give an affirmative noise and a nod.
That leaves you.
"Pierce, I will have you with me on standby. If the interception fails, I will send you in posing as a Konni operator to give us more information from the inside."
"Understood, sir." You can't help but be a little disappointed at the fact you are going to be seated on the sidelines for now, but you nod anyway. Whatever he says, goes.
"The deal is expected to take place just after 1600 hours. We will roll out of here at 1500 hours, giving us time to set up and be prepared. If we get actionable intel, any wind on where Makarov is, we will need to be on the move immediately. For that reason, I want each and every one of you to take this time to rest and to prepare. We may have a long few days ahead of us."
Price concludes the briefing, dismissing all of you to be left to your own devices.
You have your work cut out for you, that is for sure. This is what you had wanted, some more action, and now you are about to get it.