Call of Duty Oneshots

Wrestling With the Past (Requested Logan)

Every time before a match you had to hurt yourself in some way. It was entirely accidental, whether it be a simple fall or banging of the elbow on something sharp. No matter what happened you went into the ring with pain.

However, you had never lost a match. Out of six major fights, not once had you been defeated- even with something that had managed to jab you beforehand. It was like the spots made them a target, distracting your opponents from the rest of you, which allowed you to easily battle their moves. 

This one was supposed to be one of the best match ups, you versus the most experienced woman you'd ever known. You merely remembered looking up to her when you were younger. Now you were fighting her. During the minutes on the ring, she was an enemy. 

You began your way out towards the ring, the crowd's noise raising to discomforting levels. Your opponent was already ready in the ring, glaring you down as you walked. You felt her check for any weakness. 

Your wrapped hand was the only sign of what you'd done to yourself behind the scenes. A simple slice to the palm because of rushing to get ready. 

You reached the ring and entered with a final glance at your trainer, the mentor who'd gotten you this far. He gave you a thumbs up- his signature- and then retreated to where he needed to. You let out a breath at the same time and completely entered the mats. 

The woman had already pinpointed her areas to target, you felt those spots burning from her consistent gazes. In an unexpected gulp of nervousness, you prepared yourself. It was important to focus on not only her weaknesses, but her strengths.

Both would help you win. 

You braced after knocking knuckles with her, eyes trained on hers for signs of movement. She watched you even more fiercely, her older face painted with the wisdom of her past matches. In front of her, you felt completely inexperienced. 

Your eyes darted to the right to see your trainer wording advice through his lips. Just behind him, however, your eyes caught on to another sight. It made your breath go weak, your legs wobbly. 

Logan Walker was standing with a VIP pass, his eyes trained steadily on you. Though you hadn't seen him in years, you knew it was him. Why he was here confused you, but it also made you experience a strange form of relief. Your lost best friend was still alive and was here to watch you fight in a huge match. 

Your eyes darted back to your opponent. Now she was bracing to attack on the mark of the referee. It was at any moment, the signal would show and the match would begin. 

Before the bell went off, however, everything grew stark white. You were blinded by the brightness, the ringing in your ears, and stumbled backwards. Screams began to erupt through your ringing ears, also bringing in fainter sounds than were much more inhuman. 

Gunshots. 

You moved to find some sort of cover despite blurry vision and little hearing, but your legs only tangled up. As you fell, someone harshly landed on top of you. A dead body likely. 

Your mouth opened in a tiny scream as you wiggled to get away from the death. Suddenly, the body wasn't dead, but alive, and they were telling you it was going to be okay, that he had you. Your eyes flashed open to the final reassuring words. 

"Logan?" you whispered. 

His eyes were the only thing you saw with his appearing mask. Dark with a white ghost-like face, the mask shielded everything you knew about Logan. You gripped his fit bicep, feeling him cautiously drag you up. 

"We gotta get out of here," he stated, looking around. 

As more of your vision cleared, you realized he was holding an automatic rifle and was prepared with other gadgets on his waist. Around the two of you, bodies were flailing and people were frantically trying to escape. Those who hadn't...well they were close enough to reek of death in your nose.