COD Oneshots

Chained? (Roach) Pt1

Roach crouched behind the thick metal door of the dimly lit room, his rifle steady in his hands. His team, Ghost, Soap, and Price, flanked him in a textbook tactical stack. The intel had been clear: this was the stronghold of a high-value target linked to global arms dealing. Every fiber of Roach's soldiering instincts screamed at him to act as soon as the door swung open.

With a silent nod, Soap breached the door.

The room inside was sparse and dimly lit by a swinging bulb. It was a scene seemingly torn from a crime drama: three men standing over a disheveled woman who was chained to the wall, her wrists bound by thick metal cuffs. The men turned toward the soldiers, their hands inching toward concealed weapons. Roach's team raised their guns in unison, lasers painting red dots on the men's chests.

"Stand down!" Ghost barked, his tone sharp enough to cut steel.

But Roach held up his hand, halting the others. His gaze wasn't on the men—it was locked on the woman.

She was breathtaking, her wild hair framing a face that was both striking and hauntingly calm. Yet her body language felt... wrong. Too relaxed for someone supposedly in peril. The chains that bound her weren't taut; they dangled loosely, almost ornamental.

Roach lowered his weapon slightly, keeping his voice low but firm.
"A good soldier would free her. A great soldier would check for traps beforehand. But a clever soldier..." he paused, his eyes narrowing, "...would notice she isn't chained up at all."

Her lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes glinting with something almost predatory.
"Clever boy," she purred.

In an instant, the woman moved like lightning, spinning into a graceful kick that slammed into the closest man's jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground. Before the other two could react, she had disarmed one with a twisting arm lock and driven her knee into the gut of the third. They were unconscious before Roach's team could even process what was happening.

The room fell silent except for the creak of the swinging bulb above. The woman stood amidst the fallen men, her chest rising and falling as she turned toward Roach. Slowly, she stepped toward him, her movements deliberate, almost feline. The scent of her perfume—a mix of jasmine and something darker—filled his senses as she stopped mere inches from his face.

"Who—" Roach began, his voice unsteady.

She smiled at him, an expression that was equal parts amusement and challenge.
"You'll figure it out," she said softly, her breath warm against his cheek as she left a small Kiss close to his mouth.

She walked past him then, her boots clicking softly against the concrete floor. The team watched, stunned, as she strode out the door, her voice echoing over her shoulder.
"You blew my mission."

And just like that, she was gone.

Roach stood frozen, his mind a whirlwind of questions. Who was she? What was her mission? He barely noticed Soap muttering behind him, "Well, that was... different."

Ghost's voice broke the tension. "Roach, we've got bigger problems. We still need to secure the target."

But Roach barely heard him. His gaze lingered on the door where she had disappeared, the scent of her perfume still clinging to the air. For the first time in years, he felt shaken—not by fear, but by fascination.

He didn't know who she was, but he knew one thing: this wasn't the last he'd see of her.

And somehow, he was certain she wanted him to find her.

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Roach sat hunched over his desk in the dimly lit quarters of their base. A faint glow from his laptop illuminated his face, his eyes bloodshot from weeks of restless nights. The search had consumed him. Her face, her movements, the way she had smiled at him—it all haunted his thoughts. The woman wasn't just another operative; she was an enigma wrapped in grace and danger.

The mission had ended weeks ago, but Roach couldn't let it go. He scoured every channel he had access to, diving into the murky depths of classified files, intercepted communications, and the dark web. He didn't even have a name to go on. She was a ghost in her own right, slipping through every net he cast.

Out of desperation, he crafted a single, anonymous message, distributed through layers of encryption and obscure forums frequented by operatives and mercenaries:

"To the one who left me with questions and a mission undone: I'm looking for you. No harm intended. Just answers."

It was a gamble, one Roach didn't think would pay off. But he couldn't stop himself from trying.

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One night, weary from yet another fruitless search, Roach pushed open the door to his room. He barely noticed the faint smell of perfume at first—too caught up in his own exhaustion. But then he froze.

There, lounging on his battered old couch, was the woman. Her boots rested casually on his coffee table, her legs crossed as she leaned back like she'd been there a hundred times before. A soft, knowing smile played on her lips as she twirled a knife in her hand, its blade catching the light.

"You've been looking for me," she said, her voice as smooth as velvet.

Roach blinked, his brain scrambling to process what he was seeing. His instincts screamed at him to reach for the weapon holstered at his hip, but something held him back. Maybe it was the relaxed way she sat, exuding confidence. Maybe it was her eyes, which sparkled with amusement and the faintest hint of something darker.

"How did you—" he started, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

"Find you? Please." She smirked. "You put a beacon out for me on every shady corner of the internet. I had to come see who was so desperate to find little old me."

Roach felt his face flush but kept his tone steady. "I needed answers."

She stood then, the knife slipping seamlessly into a sheath at her hip. She moved toward him, her steps deliberate, each one bringing her closer until they were nearly nose to nose again. Her scent—jasmine and that same dark undertone—was just as intoxicating as before.

"And now you've got me," she said softly. "What's your first question?"

Roach's throat felt dry, but he managed to get the words out. "Who are you?"

Her lips curved into a playful smile. "You can call me Y/N," she said, tilting her head slightly. "That's all you'll get for now."

"Why were you there?" he pressed, his voice firmer now.

"To clean up a mess," she replied simply. "You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe it was the right place. Who knows?"

Her answers only fueled his frustration, but before he could ask another question, she reached out and tapped his chest lightly with her finger.

"You're clever, Roach. That's why I didn't break your neck when you followed me. But you're playing a dangerous game, chasing ghosts like me." Her voice dropped, taking on a softer, almost warning tone. "Be careful what you wish for."

She moved past him, her fingers grazing his arm as she did. At the door, she turned back, her smile now softer, almost fond.

"For what it's worth, I'm impressed. Most people don't even know I exist. You? You found me. That's something."

And with that, she slipped out into the night, leaving Roach standing in the middle of his room, her scent still lingering in the air.

For a long moment, he stood there, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He had more questions than ever, but one thing was certain: this wasn't the last time he'd see Y/N.

And this time, he wasn't going to let her leave without answers.