Numbers and Targets (Call of Duty:Black Ops)

“Wake the fuck up!” My eyes shot open in a panic.

I was waking up to a nightmare, I was waking up hung-over yet a single drop of alcohol had not passed my lips. The room was spinning, I couldn't see straight. I waited for my eyes to adapt to the luminous light shining on my face, blinding me. My arms were dead; I couldn't move them with all my might, strapped down to wood at each side of me. There were nails through my hands, or at least it felt like it, there might as well have been, I was bloody Jesus.

The light seemed to have faded slightly as I could not see an extra two or three meters ahead of me, there were television screens surrounding me. My face starred on each of them, it was me on each of them as if I was watching myself, it felt somewhat haunting. The only logical thought that ran through my head was; where am I and how the hell do I get out?

“Wake up, WAKE UP!” The voice continued, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to what appeared to be reality.

The curiosity got the better of me “Where am I?” I questioned. “Where is Reznov?” The interrogator ignored my questions. Did I really expect him to give me an answer in the first place?

“You will answer our questions, do you understand that?” A sly, evil smile spread across his face, revealing his crooked teeth. By this point I knew I was by myself, alone. I didn't want to give up; I wasn't going to be that man who went down without a fight. I wasn't a goddamn wimp.

“Who the hell are you?” I said firmly trying to control my anger, I don’t think it worked. He had the answers I was looking for, the answers I needed.

The man laughed, only it wasn’t a friendly laugh nor chuckle, it was an evil sadistic laugh which could star in anyone’s nightmares. “That is not important, what is important is who you are. What’s your name?” He questioned.

Maybe he wasn’t all he wanted to appear to me, if he had done his research he would know who I was. The option of giving him a fake name did cross my mine. Maybe he’d believe it; maybe I was the one calling all the shots here. The feel of electricity in my bloodstream reminded me that this was not the case. I felt my blood start to boil; this man is doing nothing by insulting my intelligence but anger me. Asking me who I am who the fuck did he think he was?

“Fuck you” I replied. The man ignored this, figures.

“Where were you born?” He continued with his questions. I wondered how long it would take him to run out of his small talk.

“Kiss my ass” I replied in a monotone voice. He didn’t like that, which probably wasn’t the best start as I felt an electric pulse run through my body. I screamed out in pain against my better will. I was so tired, I felt weak, I was weak.

Though the conversation with this man I had not realised my eyes have fully focused back to normal, I could see the dull grey stone walls a few meters in front of me. There was a wall of glass which black figured were appearing behind. Wall was stained in which I could only pray was not blood from previous hostages. My head wasn’t attached to my body anymore, it was slowly drifting away, there was a high pitch buzzing noise in my ears, I tried to gain consciousness. I looked down at the floor on front of me, there was a drain which blended into the colour of the floor and walls, that dull grey colour, if that could even be classed as a colour. There was pain, an electric current coming from some part of my body, I didn’t know which, I couldn’t even see anymore.

I tried to focus on my breathing; it couldn’t be that hard, could it?

In. Out.

In. Out.

I tried to focus on this for a while, I slowly started to feel the weight of my head back on my shoulders as I tried to regain consciousness for which felt like the hundredth time today.

There was distorted speakers in the top corners of the room, the black figure speaks once more but doesn’t question me this time. In fact he starts answering his own questions. “Your name is Alex Mason” He informed me like I didn’t already know, or, maybe I didn’t know this. I don’t know what I know anymore. “You were born in Fairbanks Alaska” He continued, “In 1961 you served in a CIA assassination known as Operation 40” The name rang a bell in my mind, it started coming back to me. “Is this correct?” He asked. I thought it was correct, but perhaps this was part of his mind games, I didn’t know what to believe anymore. My brain was tangled, entwined. The sadly familiar feel of electricity pulsed through my body once more. “Is this correct?” He asked again a lot more firmly.

I couldn’t take the electricity pulsing through my bloodstream anymore. “Yes” I said. The three lettered word came out weaker than I anticipated it to.

“Where is the broadcast station?” This question made no sense to me, broadcast station? Was this a trick question?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Which was the most truthful answer I had given all day.

“The numbers, Mason. What do they mean? Where are they broadcasted from?” As he said this the television screen in front of me starts playing numbers in red, one number at a time, they looked rather familiar but I can’t think why they are. It was a feeling deep down inside me that made me feel I knew these numbers before. I felt they should be kept hidden and I don’t know why.

“I don’t know anything about any numbers” I replied.

 He then continued throwing unanswerable questions at me as the TV screen changed to a man with short grey hair and stubble covering his face. There were wrinkles covering the sides of his eyes where it looked like he had been squinting a lot, his frown would depress a circus.

“What about Dragovich? Do you remember him? Give us what we need and we’ll garentee your safety” He continued as my vision slowly started to blur. There were people in my head banging every inch of it with sticks. I didn’t reply to him, I couldn’t reply to him everything was spinning again as another wave of electricity was sent racing around my body. The interrogator now tried changing the subject wanting to start back at the beginning. “Let us start at the beginning” He said “Cuba, 1961, we know you were there, Mason”

My eyes now shut, from frustration, anger, tiredness, pain, I did not know, maybe all of the above.

“No” I replied simply.

“Do not fuck with me Mason, I know when you are lying” He stated. “61, bay of pigs, what happened?” It made me laugh that he really didn’t give up, only it wasn’t a real laugh, or was it? I don’t even know anymore. I tried to remember what happened, I really did try.

“We all got killed” I don’t know why I said it. Was it true? Maybe I really was dead, the thought echoed in my head for longer than it should have.

“There’s no use in lying, Mason” He said firmly, I could tell his already limited patience was wearing thin. “We know you went in with Woods and Bowman” This made my head hurt even more.

“Woods” I repeated to myself. “And Bowman” The names were familiar; there were too many thoughts going through my head.

“Dragovich” The interrogator continued. “Do you remember Dragovich?” His questions just skimmed straight past me.

“Castro” I said to myself. “We went in to kill Castro” I don’t know why I said it, I think it was true. My head was slowly floating back up to that dangerous place again. The memories hurt, I could take the electric pulsing through my body, I could take him yelling at me and the pounding in my head, but what I couldn’t take were the memories of whatever happened that day. And that’s when everything went white again, as I lost my grip on reality once again.