COD Oneshots

Chained (Roach) Pt4

Convincing his captain to let him go had been no small task. Roach had paced the office, every word carefully measured as he laid out his reasoning. He argued that it wasn't just a personal mission—it was a matter of honor, of tying up a loose end that could jeopardize the safety of others.

The captain had stared at him for a long moment before finally letting out a sigh. "You've got three days, Roach. Make it count."

Roach had expected that to be the hardest part of his plan. He hadn't even considered involving his team. This was personal—something he thought he'd have to do on his own. But when he stepped onto the plane, his heart skipped a beat.

There they were.

Ghost, Soap, and even Gaz, each dressed and geared up, their expressions unreadable but determined. They didn't say much—there was no need for words. But Roach saw it in their faces: they weren't letting him do this alone.

Soap was the first to break the silence, grinning as he patted the seat next to him. "You didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you?"

Ghost, leaning casually against the wall, crossed his arms. "This isn't just about you, mate. We look out for our own."

Gaz gave a small shrug, his rifle resting across his lap. "Besides, someone's gotta make sure you don't get yourself killed."

Roach didn't respond right away. He swallowed hard, nodding once as he took a seat. They knew him well enough to recognize his silent gratitude.

The flight was long, filled with the low hum of the plane's engines and the occasional murmured conversation. Roach spent most of it poring over the limited intel they had, his mind racing with possibilities. Y/N's last known location was a small city on the edge of a conflict zone. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start.

When they landed, the team wasted no time. They moved through the crowded streets of the city with practiced ease, blending into the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the sounds of distant gunfire and shouting a constant reminder of the danger surrounding them.

Their first stop was an abandoned safe house—a known drop point for local operatives. It was a dingy, crumbling building tucked away in a narrow alley, but it offered a vantage point and a secure place to gather intel.

Soap crouched by a window, scanning the street below through a pair of binoculars. "Lot of movement out there," he muttered. "Hard to tell who's who."

Ghost sat at a table, piecing together fragments of intercepted communications. "She's good at staying off the grid," he said, his tone laced with grudging respect. "But someone around here knows something."

Roach nodded, his jaw tight as he stared at a map spread out across the table. "We focus on the usual hotspots. Bars, markets, anywhere people talk. Someone's bound to slip up."

The team split into pairs, moving through the city with precision. Roach and Ghost took the eastern district, where black-market deals and shady meetings were a daily occurrence. Soap and Gaz headed west, where the local militia had been spotted in force.

It was a slow, painstaking process. Every conversation, every whispered exchange, had to be carefully sifted for clues. Roach's nerves were on edge, his mind constantly replaying memories of Y/N—her teasing smile, her sharp wit, the way she had always managed to stay one step ahead of him.

"Anything yet?" Roach asked Ghost as they navigated a crowded marketplace, their eyes scanning every face.

"Not yet," Ghost replied, his voice low. "But we're getting closer. People are talking about a foreign operative—someone who's been causing trouble for the locals."