Wicked Chaos | COD MW2 SGR FF/AU

8 | WHEN THEIR BLADES RAN DULL (PART 1)

United States Military Base, Middle East / 10-28-22 / 07:00
SPECIAL OPERATIVE LIEUTENANT "CHAOS" / TF-141 ASSOCIATE
LIEUTENANT SIMON "GHOST" RILEY / TF-141

"Let me see what happened."

Keegan's usually cut-throat tone was firm but gentle as the warmth of his palm melded against Chaos' skin, tenderly adjusting her horrendous first attempt at dressing her hands in a set of ivory-coloured boxing wraps. The adolescent female observed the way his sweat-drenched eyebrows furrowed together, a slight amusement festering behind the slight curling of her lips as he paused several times throughout. His neutral expression shifted to one of confusion at the wrinkled mess of fabric embracing her scar-free palms and fingers absent of calluses, occasionally lifting them to understand the direction of how the wraps wound around her hands. Noticing Keegan's wordless but knowingly disappointed head shake, Chaos chuckled lightly in contrast.

The familiar confines of Fort Santa Monica were soon approaching the stroke of midnight as hues of purples, pinks and oranges washed across the sky, the eighteenth year of Chaos' life in close accompaniment with her enlistment into the marines the next morning. Despite the birthday festivities being only hours away, Keegan still found it appropriate to prematurely present his gift to her; a small white box dressed in a black ribbon with care and perfect precision, contained within the boxing wraps she clad her hands with haphazardly. Receiving it earned an expectant gaze from her brother, one that beckoned her to open it without delay. With less than twenty-four hours remaining until her departure to Parris Island, it only made her enlistment all the more bittersweet.

The Russ family was a decorated lineage extensively intertwined with a generational service to the United States Military; a child born into the bloodline was often expected, if not destined to take up arms and protect America. For all living members of the Russ family, seeing one of their own off into any branch of the military was a tradition carved in stone. Seven years ago, alongside their active-duty parents, aunts and uncles, and retired grandparents, Chaos wished him strength and bravery as he departed for Parris Island. Seven years later, it was Keegan's turn, though his pre-parting words mirrored warnings rather than well wishes.

"Your drill sergeants won't fix these for you," Keegan reminded as he began a fresh attempt. "I'm going to teach you this once, so pay attention."
"You won't fix them for me anymore, Keegs?" she questioned innocently but initially earned no response.

Chaos noticed her brother's sapphire eyes flicker upwards before his critical gaze returned to their hands and though it was brief, his stare had made her feel much smaller than he most likely intended. It was an expression and demeanour she learned to become accustomed to. A look of solemnity that would often wash over his mature features following his distraught but triumphant return from the Iranian Border seven years ago. A demeanour of mentorship manifested from having experienced the atrocities of the Tel Aviv War at the ripe old age of sixteen. Keegan would never intend ill advice to his fellow soldiers, and certainly not his little sister; the one thing that Chaos knew her brother was incapable of.

"Behind enemy lines- or anywhere for that matter- your opponents won't wait for you to get your gear in order. They will strike first when given the opportunity so don't put yourself out in the open," he spoke, a rough firmness evident in his tone as he secured the velcro around her wrist. "This isn't like trading blows with dad or Nero. You have to think like a Ghost when ammo runs dry and blades run dull if you want to join us."

Ghosts.

Born from Operation Sand Viper and the haunted recountment of a single surviving soldier wandering the desert, the legend of Task Force Stalker was engraved into the very fibre of her being and submerged in the undying flames of her soul. Reciting its very contents posed no challenge; sixty tier-one soldiers were reduced to a mere fifteen by five-hundred enemy fighters, bathed in the sand and blood of their fallen brothers as the surviving soldiers used their corpses to strike with undefeatable supernatural stealth. Upon its telling from the mouths of those embroiled within Sand Viper's murky depths, Chaos never doubted its authenticity. She had firsthand witnessed the profound impact left on the surviving fifteen following their return and recovery on American soil.