Wicked Chaos | COD MW2 SGR FF/AU

12 | BOILING POINT

Fuerzas Especiales, Las Almas, Mexico / 10-30-22 / 21:49
SPECIAL OPERATIVE LIEUTENANT "CHAOS" / TF-141 ASSOCIATE

"For the love of God, Kate, you cannot tell me in good faith that that's not suspicious behaviour!"

Despite that it was refreshing and genuine, an unfathomable flood of unbridled fury coursed through Chaos' dilated veins as her scrutinizing scowl remained pinpointed on the older woman's face contained over the conference room's big screen. A highly skeptical expression maintained a firm hold on Laswell's aged features, the very sight of her unconvinced appearance seemingly pouring additional gasoline on the raging fire already bursting at the seams. The lieutenant's mask woven with threads of meticulous collectedness began to unravel between her fingers, readily granting passage to the explosive emotions strictly housed within. Very rarely did her semblance of calm composure become undone in the face of matters unrelated to Operation Black Sonata but she admittedly deemed this to be an inevitable exception, especially when combating the bouts of denial voiced by Kate Laswell, the woman whom she thought was capable of thinking for herself.

Well-spoken and commanding unconventional information warfare at her fingertips; an impressive first impression the moment Chaos locked gazes with Station Chief, Kate Laswell. It was Chaos's third anniversary of her induction into Task Force Stalker when Laswell scheduled her visit to Fort Santa Monica, which had unfortunately succeeded a devastating operation in Venezuela's capital, Caracas, where the Ghosts lost their former commanding officer. While the events of Operation Legends Never Die were a critical topic of discussion between Elias Walker and Kate Laswell, it was clear to Chaos that that wasn't the true intention of the woman's visit to California the moment she approached her in the training room.

The offer of working directly under Kate Laswell hung amongst the sweat-scented air as Chaos carefully considered the opportunity at the flick of a switch. At the time, however, she quickly thought nothing of the new position as her heart, her soul, and her loyalties would forever remain with the task force intertwined within her family's recent history. Despite her initial refusal, the offer remained on the round table- an offer that demanded loyalty and mutual trust between Special Operative Lieutenant Chaos and Station Chief Kate Laswell.

The station chief who supposedly trusted and valued Chaos' intuition and acquired intelligence to a higher standard compared to the C.I.A. agents working underneath her.

"Lieutenant, you know better than to make these kinds of accusations," Laswell attempted to reason, exhaustion flooding through her irritable tone.

The constant denial presented in the woman's stance on the matter paved the way for a bitter taste to disgrace Chaos' bitten back tongue, attempting to stomach a sharp rebuttal and an even harsher insult. In an additional endeavour to ease her frayed nerves amid a conversation that was seemingly at a standstill, she rapidly paced the projector-lit room. She hoped the movement would soothe the tension still holding her body hostage but even then, nothing physical proved useful as the ebbing pain of her stitched lingered in her shoulder. Chaos could suppose her current irritation partially attributed to the fact but it was still lacklustre in the face of the matter at hand.

"I wouldn't be making any accusations if I didn't have my head screwed on straight!"

Several hours had passed since Chaos and her companions returned from the Chihuahua Desert, a nearly fruitless interrogation of Hassan Zyani following his capture and subsequent release. Despite the woman's mild deliriousness throughout the preceding chain of events, she could easily recall the bitterness left behind in its wake.

Delicate wispy swirls of white smoke reverberated past Chaos' parted lips, her tensed body overwhelmed by the chilly wave that had washed through the desolate air of the Chihuahua Desert before the heat of the running MSF jeep flushed it out. The woman had nearly missed Ghost's tenderness as he draped an aged blanket over her shirtless torso while she flopped into the back seat, her inconsistently distorting focus occupying her thoughtless mind preventing the man's warmth from reaching her. A dull ache remained vibrant under her slowly warmed skin and through her strained muscle fibres, commanding her weakened body to stand at attention despite the protection of Ghost's presence shielding her from the outside.