Author's Note: Hey all! So this is my first venture into the world of Call of Duty. To say the least, I'm excited. I've seen many fanfics on the topic of Ghosts by now, and all of them have their marvel and suspense. Though an idea hit me, one that I just couldn't contain. So I wrote it down and made it into a prologue.

I hope you enjoy, and there will definitely be more to come.

Disclaimer: I don't own Call of Duty or any of its characters. Only my OC is mine.

CALL OF DUTY: ForeFront

Prologue: Dark New Beginnings

There was something to be reckoned with when people thought of the Ghosts. They were a revered and highly respected military outfit, one shrouded in shadow and fear.

In fact, there was so much of that fear that their enemies refused to believe the Ghosts existed. For the very thought of the possibility that they did, that they were real, it was enough to make anyone paranoid.

And maybe it was that refusal, that vehemence of deniability, that drove the Federation to a stand-off. An inexcusable stand-off.

It was sickening to know that all of these men and women, whose freedom was being squandered, were hiding their true potential all because a couple of freaks in ghost masks decided to play hero.

It definitely sickened Howard Creed.

The man was not one to be differed with, not one to be shut down. It didn't matter that the Americans had destroyed the Federation fleets, they would rise back up from the ashes like a phoenix.

They would persevere.

They would have their victory.

And in a ways, the destruction of Loki hadn't been an entire demoralization, for one bright light had crept out of it. One good thing to come of all the madness.

They had a Ghost. The ultimate killing machine, the ultimate hunter, the ultimate grim reaper. He was theirs.

Fully.

In both mind and spirit. The Federation had broken him, piece by piece. Slowly stripping away his humanity, the best way possible. The best medicine was to rip someone bare, expose them for who they are, and then find the cure. And it worked like a charm.

Creed wasn't surprised in the slightest. In fact, he'd expected the process would've taken much longer. Perhaps years. Thankfully, it hadn't.

Just the thought that the Federation's future, which was starting to linger in doubt, was now getting brought into a fully realized, new beginning was exhilerating.

And it's all because of me.

Creed couldn't keep the smugness from his face as he took a sip of his coffee, letting the plush leather of the car seat support his back.

Now, the beginning and the end of all that mattered was in his hands.

I am the destructor, and the creator. Alpha and Omega.

More words of pride that Creed couldn't contain. Mostly because the thoughts were true. It was his doing that the Federation rose to power in the first place, his team was the one that destroyed Odin before turning it against the Americans.

He remembered what his mother used to say: "Make sure you never underestimate your enemy. Sometimes, their greatest weapons can be their greatest weaknesses."

Those words rang true and true, each time Creed thought of them. God bless his mother's sweet soul, may she rest in peace. If she hadn't been so strict with supply rations, educational lessons, teaching humility and discipline, Creed knew he wouldn't have gotten where he was today.

But his mother was a true blooded patriot. A patriot who fell in love with another patriot, one who wasn't in the same views of light. A Russian and a Spaniard, somehow falling in love and getting married.

It was remarkable. But Creed was remarkable, and the man knew it. The man hated his parents however, and the thought brought a sour taste to his coffee.

His name, one he'd chosen himself, had given him a definition away from his accursed heritage. He loved them, of course he did, as they were family. He loved the values they taught him, his father's Spetsnaz training, his mother's nobility, but he hated who they were.

And the truth was that they were cowards. Maybe not in body, but in spirit. And that was the reason that Creed left that despicable household and traveled. Because he knew he could make a difference in the world, rise up and strike out of the muck of undervalued scolding. And he had.

He'd single-handedly brought one of the greatest superpowers to their knees. And it felt so good commanding that squad, the one that rained hell down on the United States. He knew that if his mother was alive today, she'd be proud.

Dad, you can go fuck yourself.

Creed smiled at driver as the jeep pulled to a stop outside of the Amazon facility, the inquisitor stepping out into the hot tropical sun with an indignant huff. Creed instantly realized that maybe he should've gone with the cobalt blue polo for this trip, but brushed the thought aside as it was too late to go back and change.

Besides, wearing a white Italian suit was always a fashionable choice. Even if it was opened up rather immensely due to the heat.

Creed didn't bother with any greetings, simply taking off his aviators with a cold-set look as he neared the narrow pathway.

"Take me to him." The business man snapped his fingers, launching the Federation soldiers into a rushed "Yes, sir," as they began escorting him into the jungle.

The fresh air was relaxing, much less stale than the cold interrogation room Creed had spent the last twenty-four hours in getting berated by his higher-up, the Director.

Another person who can go fuck themselves.

Creed didn't let the inward snarl show as he thought of his commander. The plan with Loki was supposed to be fool-proof, impossible to counter-attack. Yet, somehow someone managed to screw that up in ways so bad that the entire station was commandeered and turned against them.

And when news that Rorke had been killed...well...

...Shit really hit the man then.

Thankfully, no such thing had occurred, and Creed wasn't hanging with a noose around his neck. As Inquisitor to International Federation Affairs and Field Ops CEO, IIFAFO for short, it was his job to make sure the plan was followed through to completion. To triple check each and every nook and cranny, make sure nothing could possibly go wrong. To investigate all potential objects of failure.

And he had failed. Though to his credit, Creed thought he did a pretty damn good job. Actually, a superb job. Which was the reason he wasn't replaced. At least the Director had some common sense.

Nearing up on the site of containment, Creed allowed himself to take in the scenery.

It was beautiful, and that was putting it mildly.

The hills looked absolutely breathtaking, the sun was high in the sky, the flora and fauna just coming to life from their morning gloom. The sounds of the insects running around the underbrush, wildlife calling out in the far horizon. All of it was surreal, as if taken from a fairy tale book. Creed could get used to a sight like this.

No one would suspect that such a place could be tainted with destruction and violence. That the bloodbaths of hundreds of innocent civilians had not stained this forest. That their lifeless bodies would sometimes be hanged up on the branches, that the tortured would be let loose into the wild to run for their lives, and then brutally hunted like a startled doe.

These were the torture grounds, and every time Creed saw them he felt sick. There was no real beauty to sky, no real fragrance to the breeze.

Rorke loves it here, and I can see why. This place was made for him. Funny, since this was where that sick bastard was created.

"Let's get it over and done with." Creed squinted as he turned back to face his group, who had reached their destination. "Open it up."

The bamboo hatch was yanked open, a haunched figure lay down in the mud inside. One had to stoop down to see his full features, which weren't pleasant to see at all. The man's body was hunched over, as if he couldn't fully stand straight. His filthy arms hang limp at his sides, his face lulled to his shoulder. Scars and burns filtered across his being, the sandy brown hair now ratted with nature.

Vomit and blood, wet from the short rain, had dampened the muddy floor of the hole. The prisoner looked utterly, and completely, broken.

Excellent.

Creed found a wide, toothless smile spread across his tanned face.

"Get me Rorke. Tell him we're ready for Phase Three."

Author's Note: Well there it is! Tell me what you think. Prologues are always short, so the next chapter will be much longer.

Stay tuned!