.Chapter 14: Take My Hand:

(Counterpoint: Lt. Petral Levark and Cpt. John Price)

"History is written by the victors." -General Shepard

-John-

Do you really plan on destroying my entire world, Makarov? You've gotten so far. I'll give you that.

You've taken my men, my best friend, my team. My allies and my dignity. You had your men take me and strip me of my identity. I was no longer a man. I was "Prisoner 627". I lived off of bread scraps and cheese for five years. But you didn't break me. Oh, you came so close. But you didn't succeed.

My best friend found me. He had taken the team I had lost and built it back up again. He became a leader. He saved my life, and the little FNG I made fun of all those years ago grew into a bloody hero.

And then you took his life, along with the millions of others who were slaughtered at your hand. How many more do you plan on killing, Makarov? The war is over, but you're far from done, aren't you? It's not like you to just stop. I guess that makes us pretty well alike, doesn't it?

But you made a mistake. You didn't give me a reason to stop fighting. I have something to live for. I want you dead. I want you to choke on your own blood as the light vanishes from your eyes. If you're as smart as you seem to be, you won't give me time to make you feel it.

But as much as I wish I could, I can't possibly make you feel the pain and suffering that millions of people have endured at your hand. That would take time. And time is not something that I have.

And you know what else? I want her safe. That woman on my broken team. You destroyed her home, didn't you? Killed her parents and family. She wants you dead as much as I do. Maybe I'll die today, Makarov. I'll die right along with you, and the devil himself will welcome us at the gates of Hell. But she will live today, even if I have to carry her back to Prague with two broken legs. Have you ever loved a woman, Makarov? Enough that you're entire push forward has split it's meaning?

I've always thought that all I ever wanted was for you to die, and don't worry, that's still going to happen today. But I have another reason, and that is to keep her breathing. I may be a bloody idiot, but I have loved a woman, Makarov, and it's a whole other bloody war that's almost as hard to fight as the one you've forced upon us.

But this last struggle? This is for Soap. This is for Sandman. This is for my fallen men. This is for me. Blood to blood, man to man.

Dust to dust.

Yuri and Petral loaded their guns. I loaded mine. Had this been almost a year ago, I don't think Petral would have been able to hold the heavy machine gun that went along with our armor. Now she held it almost with ease. Bullets were hammering against the protective metal encasing from the outside, causing the whole landing pod we were sitting in to shake. The juggernaut suits we were wearing only made the tiny, enclosed space even more cramped.

"Are you sure these suits will hold?" Yuri yelled over the roar. Petral looked up. She looked anxious, but that wide-eyed look of determination had settled over her face. She was prepared for this. Nodding at me, she put her helmet on and crouched at the ready.

"They'll buy us some time!"

Nikolai, who was circling in the chopper somewhere above us, spoke through our comms.

"Makarov is in the atrium, on the third floor. But he'll be on the move as soon as he knows you three are coming!"

"Makarov doesn't leave here alive. Let's move."

They were ready. I unlocked the doors, and kicked them outward, unleashing a frenzy of bullets on our initial attackers. They dropped, and we pressed forward. I was never keen on wearing these suits. You couldn't move much faster than a jog, but I knew it was necessary, especially here. The hotel was incredibly well-guarded.

We pushed our way down the street. To my relief, neither Petral or Yuri fell behind. They were equally as deadly, at least as far as gun handling went, and the suits were holding out well so far as we made our way to the hotel entrance. Beside me, Yuri took out three snipers in the third floor window. Petral took out four by the doors. The suits were holding out well, but I knew it was only a matter of time before we faced even heavier fire.

It didn't take long to make it inside, but the situation did not get any easier. Our suits forced us to move painfully slow, and the men were shooting at us from all sides. Grenades exploded only about fifteen in front of us. But we held our ground.

"Hostiles, on the escalators!" Nikolai warned.

We quickly shifted our sights upwards, taking out the dozen men up above. I could feel the gunfire against my suit and my helmet, but the armor held strong.

"Watch out!" I heard Petral yell over the comms. "Civilians incoming, hold your fire!"

Had this been a normal mission, we would have most likely stopped and directed the screaming, frightened civilians to safety. But time was not on our side. This mission was a race against the clock.

We ducked behind cover, and made our way to the escalators once they passed. We were now on the second floor.

"Nikolai, we're gonna need control of those lifts!" I yelled over a grenade exploding, almost too close. I watched Yuri dive out of the way of three men with riot shields, and hurl an explosive their way. Petral knocked another two men to the ground with the butt of her rifle. We had to get out of here.

Women, men, and children ran screaming, some injured, some dying before my eyes. In all my years of being in the service, that was never something I could ever stomach without looking away.

"I've got it! Sending the elevators to your floor now!"

Stepping over a cluster of bodies I didn't want to look at, we raced towards the lifts. I could hear my pulse thudding in my ears. I was running on pure adrenaline. The last time I felt this powerful was fighting General Shepard, knowing Soap was slowly dying not four meters away.

"Makarov's moved to the fourth floor! He's got a whole bout of security with him, assault rifles, one RPG, and over a dozen gunmen. And...I'm picking up one unidentified body. I can't tell who it is. From here, it looks like Makarov's got a prisoner with him!"

Prisoner.

Yuri's voice suddenly echoed in my head:

He said he knew you.

He sounded like he was about to bloody cry or something.

"Nikolai, who is it?!"

The lifts were going up. I feel Petral's eyes on me, even though her face was obscured by her helmet. Silence for only a second.

"Price. It's Simon."

"Simon?! Who the bloody hell is Si-"

I could feel my blood run ice-cold. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I nearly dropped my gun. Simon. Simon. Simon "Ghost" Riley.

He was alive. Somehow, he was alive. "I've spotted two enemy choppers, one's heading for the roof! I think it's going for Makarov."

"We need to take that one out!" I screamed. We aimed our weapons at the chopper and fired. The glass shattered, but we remained focused on the helicopter that was now launching missiles at us, missing us by only exploded around us, sending chunks of rubble flying. With a loud whirrr!, the chopper burst into flames and began to fall.

"Good work!" I yelled to Petral and Yuri.

The chopper was falling...falling right for us. It smashed into the lift, sending us tumbling to the ground, and sending debris flying everywhere. My head slammed into something hard as a wave of vertigo washed over me. I was vaguely aware of someone screaming, and my helmet cracking down the middle. My consciousness flickered. I felt my vision blur.

Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay-

I opened my eyes. Someone was on fire. It was Petral. She frantically ripped off her suit, tossing the armor over the side of the building, leaving her in just her uniform. Yuri yanked me to my feet, helping me discard my suit that was on fire in some places.

"The armor's shredded!" Petral yelled in frustration. There was something off about her voice. I realized she was speaking out loud, not into her earpiece. It had shattered. I blinked, finally regaining full control of my senses.

"Nikolai, can you hear me?!" I yelled into mine, praying it still worked.

"Da. I'm sending another lift your way. Be ready, Makarov is heading for the roof!"

I let out a huff of breath in relief. It didn't last long. The lift jerked, threatening to send us hurtling down four floors. I whipped my head around. The other lift had arrived.

"JUMP!"

We lept across the dizzying drop to the next lift. Yuri went first, then Petral. As I went to make the dive, my foot slipped, and I came up short. Unable to grab ahold of anything, I slammed into the side of the lift and slid until I was dangling off the edge.

Letting out a yell of shock, I struggled to drag myself back to safety. In my terror, I was vaguely aware of a panicked-looking face coming into my vision.

"Take my hand!" Petral screamed.

Looking back now, I remembered that moment as the first time I felt I truly was able to see how much this girl had changed. I had cursed myself when she had first joined our team, wondering if I was making a really, really stupid mistake. She was a pretty girl with a fist of iron. I was the captain of a broken team, who needed all the help he could get. Maybe there is a God above, even though I couldn't bring myself to believe it nowadays. Maybe she was a sign from God, letting me know he does exist after all.

She wasn't the nervous, young girl I picked up from a safehouse in Afghanistan. With her black hair, now long and unkempt and always in her face, she was a true soldier. The kind you hoped to see in every man who went out to put his life in danger for his country and his world.

And I can trust her.

I grabbed her hand, and she pulled me up to safety.

-Petral-

I promised you. I will do anything to keep you safe. I promised you, you idiot, now take my hand!

He did. For this split second, he was safe.

But safety is a precious, delicate thing. Safety is something we all take for granted, until it is taken away.

"He's heading for the restaurant! You've got to move!"

We sprinted back into the hotel, and dove for cover. We had company.

"Watch yourselves!" John yelled. "Your armor's gone!"

Shit shit shit!

I felt like a mouse in an open field. We were way too vulnerable without our armor, and with this much resistance hammering us down. I pressed my back against the wall', breathing heavy. Months ago, I would be panicking. I was scared, of course, but I was overcome with anger. I wanted to blow this entire hotel sky-high until there was nothing left. I bared my teeth, almost taking pleasure in the sound of the grenade explosion.

Control yourself. You're not a monster.

"Move up!"

I charged forward. We were in the top lobby now. The noise of screams, hostiles and civilians, was numbing. I could block out every other emotion, except for my anger.

One hallway and down another. We killed everyone who stepped in front of me. Makarov was just ahead.

"There he is! KILL HIM!" Yuri screamed.

"WATCH OUT FOR THAT CHOPPER!

The split second of pure silence was deafening, right before the rockets came. Everything was a blur of fire, light, and sound. I felt myself being slammed against the ground, and for a moment, I thought of nothing but the overwhelming pain. I struggled to move, to breathe, to cry out.

Don't let him get. Away. I can't breathe...

I blinked away the fog. I pulled myself to my feet. I forced air into my lungs.

"John!" I screamed, frantically looking around. "Yuri!"

John emerged from a pile of rubble, bleeding heavily from a wound just above his ear. But I barely noticed. Yuri.

Yuri.

Yuri was laying on the ground, a long metal rod protruding from his chest. He coughed, and blood splattered on his already ruined uniform.

"Go! Do not let him get away!" he gasped, heaving in breaths.

Was I falling? Did the hotel collapse when the rockets hit, sending me into a freefall? My entire body felt like I was plummeting down forty floors, as I forced myself to look at Yuri's broken form, laying defenseless on the ground.

I couldn't move. If it hadn't been for John, yanking me roughly by the arm, I would have stayed there. Forever? Maybe.

I had no emotion left. I was numb. I didn't feel my lungs, like they were about to burst from exertion. I didn't feel the searing pain in my right calf, or the blood seeping through to my uniform. I was falling, and I didn't think I would ever be able to pick myself back up again.

We tore through the rubble. I was dimly aware of John's forceful grip on my arm. I didn't need it. In that moment, I was pure machine.

We made it to the roof of the hotel. A forceful wind tore at my hai, sending it flying in all directions. I realized it was from the chopper, descending onto the roof. And Makarov climbing inside.

"Stay here!"

I was awestruck. He charged forward. The helicopter went into the air, and he jumped onto the side pulling himself in. I couldn't see from where I was standing, but I was aware of the helicopter dipping and swaying dangerously. A body was thrown from the chopper. I couldn't move if I wanted to.

My fascination quickly turned to horror. Before I could react, the helicopter began to plummet towards the roof. I remember being thrown to the ground yet again, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I saw stars, and my vision blurred. I barely registered the thundering shockwave of sound when the helicopter collided into the hotel.

Time seemed to slow down. It was like I was watching a movie in slow motion. The destroyed chopper was in flames. I could barely make out someone staggering away from the giant ball of fire, pulling someone with him.

Makarov.

"LET GO OF ME YOU RUSSIAN BASTARD!" the other man screamed. Was this Simon...?

"Captain Price, I thought you'd be glad to see your friend."

"Let him...go...Simon..."

I turned my head slowly. John was laying on the ground, ten meters away with Makarov looming over him like a hawk. A large piece of debris was pinning John to the ground, completely immobilizing vision flickered in and out of focus. I could barely comprehend what was going on.

"I wanted you to see this, Captain Price. I told you I was going to destroy your world, did I not? I found this young man, almost completely bled out, dragging himself away from his fallen friend. Who was it that tried to kill you, Simon? General Shepard?"

Simon tried to force himself out of Makarov's grip. But, even with my head falling into some kind of mental fog, I could tell that the British soldier was incredibly weak and thin, no doubt from being held prisoner for so long. He was no match for Makarov's strength.

"This is the final show, Captain Price. Watch carefully."

"NO! DON'T DO THIS!"

Makarov pulled out a gun. I extended my right arm, and dragged myself forward. Left arm. Again. I was moving unbearably slow, but I was making progress. My vision flickered. Black, red, blur. Black, red, blur.

Did Makarov see me? I didn't think so. He said something I couldn't hear. Simon was thrashing, struggling, trying to get out of Makarov's forceful grip. John was yelling desperately.

Right arm. Left arm. I wouldn't make it in time.

BANG!

The gun went off, and Simon fell to the ground. I bared my teeth. I was aware of a vast, unbearable pain in my torso and head, but my mind pushed it out. I was numb.

Right, left, right. I picked up a long, metal rod. It was heavy, but I was even closer to them now. Blood was pooling around Simon's body. John was screaming. Makarov was smiling.

I pulled myself to my feet, somehow, gripping the metal rod in my hand tightly. Makarov spotted me now and chuckled. I swung the rod at his head, but he caught it before I could make contact. He kicked me to the ground, and aimed the gun at my forehead.

Goodbye, John. I love you.

I squeeze my eyes shut, before hearing the sound of a gunshot. But it wasn't Makarov. I heard him scream. I opened my eyes just in time to see him whirl around. Dimly, I realized there was someone standing behind him. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. I no doubt had a terrible concussion, and was loosing a lot of blood.

But it wasn't. Behind Makarov, was Yuri.

YURI! YURI WATCH OUT-

Before I could open my mouth, I was forced to watch as Makarov shot Yuri three times in the head, killing him instantly. He crumpled to the ground, and didn't move. I had enough.

I jumped to my feet, and swung the heavy, metal rod at Makarov's head. It made contact, causing him to stagger backwards. I bared my teeth, forgetting the pain that threatened to overwhelm me.

"This is for SOAP!" I swung again, making contact once more. He yelled out in pain, doubling over.

"And YURI!" Again. Blood was spilling down the side of his head.

"And my PARENTS, you fucking BASTARD!" Again. This time, he fell, and crumpled to the ground.

He wasn't dead, but he was unconscious. I was breathing heavily, feeling light-headed. Vaguely, I was aware of the cracked surface beneath my feet, as it was glass, and had nearly broken when the chopper crashed. Should I be panicking that it could give in at any moment, sending John and I plummeting God knows how far down? Probably.

John.

He was breathing heavily underneath the huge piece of metal that was pinning him down to the ground. I rushed over to him, and together, we heaved it off of him. He gasped in relief, clutching his stomach as I helped him to his feet.

"Is he dead?!" he demanded, looking at me with wild eyes.

"No..."

He pulled out his pistol, and pushed past me, making his way over shards of rubble to Makarov's unconscious body. He aimed the pistol directly at Makarov's head, and looked at me.

"Petral-"

"Just do it."

I didn't watch. The two, loud explosions of gunfire were all I needed to hear. Makarov was dead.

An overwhelming surge of horror washed over me, as I began to process what had just occurred.

Yuri was dead.

"Yuri."

I felt tears sting behind my eyes as I made my way over to where Yuri laid. He was dead, his skin already cold as I gripped his hand as tightly as I could, kneeling beside him.

"You stupid bloody idiot...just wake up...wake up!"

I shook his body. He didn't stir.

"Petral. Petral, he's gone."

"Shut up!" I hissed, unable to tear my gaze away from the broken soldier. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. There was no way that Yuri could be dead. This wasn't fair!

From everything I had seen, fighting with Soap, John, and Yuri, I was never able to cry. Not even when I had received news of my parents. Not when Soap died, not when I had initially thought we had lost Yuri.

But now it seemed like all those times where the tears never came suddenly came rushing back to me. My body shook with sobs. Tears poured down my face, and no matter how hard I tried, my body refused to stop.

I felt arms around me, but I pushed them away. I didn't want anyone's comfort.

"Petral. Look at me."

John gently took my shoulders, and turned me to face him.

I gave up. I couldn't do this by myself. I fell into his arms, allowing myself to become completely limp. He hugged me as tightly as he could. I cried into his shoulder, and allowed myself to cry out every hellish emotion that had built up inside me over the past year.

I finally stopped crying, and sat upright, feeling my head throb painfully. I was weak from blood loss, and so, so tired. I hoped desperately that help would be on the way soon.

"John...your friend...I'm so sorry..."

He gritted his teeth.

"Soap knew him better than I did. He was a good kid...a good soldier. He always hid his face behind that skeleton balaclava he always wore. It was strange...but God...I didn't realize..."

He trailed off, shaking his head.

"He didn't die for nothing," I told him. "We got him...Makarov's dead."

"We? You got him, girlie, I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

"It was Yuri. He shot him, and gave me enough time to get to my feet...We'd both be dead if it weren't for him."

He nodded slowly. "Yuri was a good man."

I closed my eyes. So, so tired...

But I knew I was suffering from serious damage in my skull. It was dangerous to fall asleep now.

I took John's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"We'll be alright. We'll move on from here."

"Yeah. Maybe we can."

I heard sirens in the distance. Help was on the way. We both sighed in relief, leaning against one another for support. We'd be okay.

Maybe it would take a while. But we'd carry on from here.

-Epilogue-Two months later

We both had really serious concussions, but we'd live. We were finally able to take showers for the first time in months. I never realized how amazing a shower really felt until then- I didn't get out until the water turned ice cold.

And I was able to brush my hair- with a hairbrush! I actually looked decent again.

I barely recognized John. He trimmed his beard and shaved, making him look years younger. I grinned broadly, so happy to see him so healthy-looking for once. I actually threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly, just happy that we were both alive and well.

We met up with Captain MacMillan in London, and managed to finally step outside without getting hounded by the press. We weren't ready to talk yet. In time, we would be, but not now. Not while the pain was still fresh in our minds.

MacMillan was an old SAS veteran, with the personality of an ox. He was nice to talk to, but he was very sarcastic and had a very forward way of speaking. I liked him though, and I knew John and him went way back.

He expressed his desire to rebuild the Task Force, which John and I already had in mind. He'd more than willingly help us start recruiting.

So, we did. We used the same base that he and Soap had trained in, right outside of London. Young, bright-eyed boys eagerly signed up. Some knew what they were getting into, some didn't. But only the most determined and hard-willed would make the team

Four weeks later, I was already getting the hang of ordering them around.

"Oi, JACOB! PICK IT UP! I know you're faster than that!"

John found it both amusing and satisfying at the same time.

He walked up to me after the sixth day of training, when we sent the boys to their barracks to get some sleep.

"What do you think so far?"

I sighed, putting my hands on my hips and looking around. We were standing outside, by the firing range. It was warm out, and a cool breeze blew across the camp. It was a cloudy, pleasant night. We sat down by the range, beside one another, and looked out across the camp.

"I'm feeling pretty good about all this...these are good, hard-working boys, you know? Sure, a few of them are hot-heads, but they'll straighten out eventually..."

He chuckled. "Yeah...Goddamn, I remember Soap's first day. My first words to him were "Soap? What the bloody hell kind of name is Soap? How'd a muppet like you pass inspection?"

We both laughed. It felt so, so good.

I looked at John, and smiled warmly. While it still killed me how broken he really was on the inside, I knew that things would get easier from here. Makarov was dead. The war was over, at least for now, and we could finally be at peace.

I moved to sit closer to him, leaning my head against his shoulder. It was such a nice night. I didn't want it to end.

"Do you ever plan on going back home?" he asked cautiously.

I frowned. "No. I don't. I don't have anything to go back to at home...and anyway, they've no doubt presumed me dead."

He nodded.

"Do you...want me to go?"

He frowned. "Of course not...what makes you think that?"

I shrugged. "I was just wondering..."

He sighed in frustration. "I guess I haven't made it clear, have I?"

"Made what clear?"

He laughed quietly and shook his head.

"Bloody hell, Petral, I've been in love with you practically since I've met you. So while I want you to meet some young lad who will fall all silly in love with you, I don't want you to leave."

I gaped at him. I didn't know what to say.

"Dammit. Right. Sorry 'bout that. Figured I should've said it at some point...You know, take the whole 'honesty' route here, 'cause quite frankly it was-"

"John."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Before he could reply, I grabbed his vest, and kissed him. He seemed happy with it, so I didn't let go. I'm not sure how long we stayed that way, but neither one of us wanted it to end.

And I was happy with that.

As our world grew more and more bearable from that point on, there was something brand new being printed across nearly every news headline. Not just in the UK, but in America, and all across the world. It was horrifying, unbelievable, and I honestly doubted it's truth until the evidence started pouring in on nearly every news station and newspaper.

Apparently, during World War II, Germany had been working on something very secretive, and had managed to keep it out of the public eye for years. Only when a very curious journalist had been walking through one of the old testing labs in the ruins of a destroyed factory, where many Jews and gypsy children were put under horrid "medical experiments", had she found some horrific findings.

Apparently, Germany had been working on a program to raise the dead, using a chemical called "115", as said by the records and photographs found in a locked safe. They had been successful as well, and were planning on using this to aid the war effort on Hitler's behalf. I didn't believe it. No one did, until the scary photographs starting being released, one after the other online.

But apparently, that threat was still here. Shortly after the war, a group of men had been on the move, trying to deal with the threat of the risen undead through means of force. But they had disappeared, and had never been seen since.

It was all so crazy to take in. Many of us didn't believe it, but as more and more evidence came piling in, it was almost impossible not to see it as it was. A bunch of the boys were glued to the newspapers during lunch break, reading in as more and more documents became public. It was horrifying, yet fascinating, and unbelievable.

I sat in my office during lunch, reading the paper that had the latest update. Someone knocked on my door.

"Come in."

It was Private Samuel "Birdwing" Dawlson, with another, older man in a suit and tie.

"Captain Levark? This man said he wanted to speak with you."

"Thank you, private, you can go now."

"Yes, ma'am."

He left, leaving the man and I alone in the room.

"Hello, Captain Levark. My name is Daniel Marley, may I come in?"

I nodded, setting my newspaper down. "Of course. Sit down, please."

He took a seat opposite of me. He was tall, with ruffled brown hair, and dark brown eyes.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"I understand that you and Captain Price were responsible for the assassination of ultranationalist leader Vladimir Makarov, correct?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that was us."

He smiled. "I thought so. You know, Captain, the whole "risen undead" headline hasn't been the only thing going public. The both of you are very well-known across Europe and the United States."

I sighed. "Yes, I'm aware..."

He chuckled. "Well, it certainly got my attention, which is why I wanted to talk to you. You see, I'm one of the many people responsible for unearthing the evidence on this whole situation involving Germany and their secretive program that took place during World War II. Recently, a lot more has been going on than what the papers have been releasing. The undead threat has been here, ever since World War II. The government has just been doing a very good job at keeping it quiet, until now."

I crossed my legs, interested. "So what you're saying is, this has been an ongoing issue?"

"Yes. These undead, some call them "zombies", were completely outside of Group 935's control. I'm sure you've heard that Group 935 was the organization directly responsible for running this program. That was why the group disappeared so suddenly back in the 40's. They were overrun. All the members died."

I frowned. "Okay..."

"It has come to my attention that this organization has been continuing."

He pulled out several pieces of paper from his bag and showed them to me. They were photographs, a few in black and white, and a few in color. Large crowds of what looked like people were swarming around several buildings and small areas that were long abandoned. Examining them more closely, I could tell that they weren't people...or at least not entirely human. They were emaciated, their skin was gray, and they looked like they were rotting right down to the ground.

"So these..."zombies"...have been an ongoing threat since WorldWarII?"

"Yes. My fellow coworkers and I have been trying to establish an undercover group of people to help stop it. Supplied with weapons, supplies, and and medication, we send them out to go and find this new organization that's still doing this, and eliminate these undead along the way...the thing is, we need better people. Better soldiers. And that's when we thought of you, Captain."

"I'm assuming this is incredibly dangerous."

He chuckled. "Well, yes. Very. But danger isn't exactly news to you, right?"

I smiled a little, leaning back in my chair. Interesting.

Looking back, I would have thought I had enough danger for a lifetime. But this was new, wasn't it? This was a threat to everyone around me. The boys I was training. The man I loved.

"Here are some photographs of the men we've sent out previously...however...they disappeared a while back. We do not know what happened to them. Yes, Captain Levark, this would be a very dangerous mission. But we'd be willing to pay. A lot. And danger, Captain Levark, is not exactly news to you."

Oh no, danger was most definitely not news to me.

Protecting people was something I was good at. And if this meant I could save a few more lives, then why not?

"What about Captain Price?"

"We would be more than happy to welcome him onto the team as well."

That was all I needed to hear.

"Sign me up."

A/N: Group 935, including the situation involving the "zombies" is property of Call of Duty: Black Ops I.

Well, it's been eight months, but finally I'm finished. While I'm happy to finally be done, I'm also a little sad, since this has been so much fun to write! I would like to dedicate the song "Emergency" by Paramore to Petral and John's building relationship throughout the story.

I left the ending open, because I do have an idea for a zombies story in mind, and I was considering putting Petral in it. I really liked developing her character, and would really like to add her in somewhere else where she's a now fully-experienced soldier. But it's still up in the air.

Thank you all for supporting me in this along the way. I've had so much fun writing this, and hope I've made it enjoyable for you guys to read!