Call of Duty Oneshots

Destined (Stiles)

You hadn't meant to get caught and, being honest with yourself, it was a stupid mistake. It'd only taken a second of you focusing on the forest ahead of you for the American soldier to attack from your flank. 

The training had paid off on your part, allowing you to overpower him and get a chance to stab him. Little had you known that Americans weren't stupid enough to travel solo. The soldier's friend managed to restrain you before you could end one of their lives. 

Currently, your position tied to the post in the middle of a tent was quite cozy. Your wrists ached, but they hadn't been rude enough to tie the rope so tightly as to cut off circulation. Your legs were asleep tenfold now- wiggling your toes burned. 

However the burn wasn't as annoying as the one coming from the eyes of one of the American brutes standing above you. Pierson, as he'd been called, never ceased to take his persistent glare from your position while the Lieutenant proceeded to question. 

"Look," your English was perfected, "you should give up on trying to make me talk. I'm not going to. Ever."

Pierson muttered a low: "torture then." You smirked to the fun suggestion, keeping your steady gaze on the Lieutenant only. He was fuming with frustration and annoyance. 

"Then you'll just stay here and rot in this tent!" 

You chuckled as the two men exited the tent, leaving you alone in the dim lighting. Your wrists wiggled as you continued your almost-cut binding. Your tongue popped out as you focused.

"I have to feed the prisoner." 

To the nearby voice, you stopped your escape and sat normally. The tent flap opened as you did so, revealing two more, younger soldiers. You rolled your eyes. 

"Please don't tell me you're a photographer," you looked to the nerdy one with glasses. 

"I am," he attempted to sound confident as he set down and slid a bowl of steaming food. 

"Ha, small pecker syndrome," you kicked the bowl away, spilling the contents. 

The second soldier let out a snort of laughter and then shot the other a look. "Hey now, she's got a point Stiles." 

"Shut up Aiello," Stiles hissed and glared at you. "You just wasted food!" 

You shrugged. "It doesn't feed me so why should I care?" 

"How can someone be so arrogant?" 

"How can a man be a photographer?" 

"Hey!" 

"She's feisty," Aiello smirked, crossing his arms as he eyed you with interest. 

"You'll be dead before you even try," you threatened with a smile, knowing his thoughts. 

"I hope you die sooner," Stiles hissed and then marched out of the tent. 

Aiello began to follow and then glanced over his shoulder at you. "The offer is still open." 

"Wouldn't be an offer I'd want to take," you grinned. 

Aiello exited the tent without another word, leaving you to continue your escape. It was no longer than five seconds of scraping the rope against the rough wood that it finally broke. After two days of trying, you'd succeeded in releasing yourself. 

You immediately stood, looking around for nonexistent weapons. With a flicker of doubt in your mind, you peeked out to the bustling camp. There was no way you could slip out without someone spotting you, but it was a risk you would take.