The Bullet's Mark (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

   "...no shortage of volunteers, no shortage of patriots..." 
    Through pain-struck vision I found a view of a fallen comrade and a traitor father. The latter was aiming his revolver directly at the former, without remorse. Without hesitation. 
    "I know you understand." 
    No, get to him. Get to him now and stand by his side. 
    My thoughts shoved me forwards as I tried to reach a man I truly cared for. The bullet was faster than my achingly, painfully slow movements. The revolver shot as the traitor willed it to and the sound was quickly lost in the howling wind of the sandstorm. 
    The scream that erupted from my drained lungs was enough to make the world go black. 

"Easy now!"
    I launched up and out of the hospital bed, screaming louder than a train's horn. Spinning, I felt a sharp dagger in my forearm. I paused to examine the pinch, panting.
    An IV tube.
    Raising my gaze, I found a nervous woman dressed in a white uniform. A nurse. Her hands shook as she held a large needle with a whole lot of liquid in the syringe.
    "Who are you?" I tore the needles in my arms out, glaring at her. "What are you doing with that?"
    She only shook her head as if she couldn't understand my words. I looked downwards at my clothes—cheap hospital slacks with a loose white and green shirt. I'd been asleep for a while.
    "She wakes."
    The voice that spoke from my right made the my neck hairs stand on end. I faced the rat-faced bastard with a glare harsh enough to poison the rodent. He seemed unaffected.
    "I saved your life."
    I subtly glanced around for anything to use to stab Makarov. "Sure you did."
    "You'd be dead if it weren't for me."
    "You made that clear with your first statement," I picked up a surgical knife and flung the sucker at him.
    Makarov didn't even move as the knife flew past him two feet off. The metal clanked against the wall and fell to the ground while he smirked in his twisted amusement.
    "Seems like Samantha Hall is off."
    "What did you do to me?"
    "You are very drugged up from your wounds," Makarov stalked forwards and I stumbled backwards into a rolling cart of more tools. "Let's talk after you rest longer."
    Before I could try to fight the bastard, he stuck a needle into my arm.

When I woke up again, the hospital room was empty. A light in the corner was on yet the rest of the room was darkened to what was supposed to be a comforting level. I wiggled in the bed, shifting to sit up. 
    Until I realized each of my wrists were cuffed to either sides of the railing. My ankles were strapped down as well, completely immobilizing me. I let out a low grumble. 
    "Fucking Makarov." 
    I didn't doubt what I had seen was real. He had me as a prisoner and had, at some point, been able to find me. If what he said was true and he'd "saved" me, that meant he'd been there when things had gone down. 
    What things? 
    Roach was gone. Soap was likely dead as well. Price hadn't been able to see me. I'd been left. My father's dead body had also been left. There'd been a knife in his eye from Soap's last lucky throw. 
    And now I was...here? Stuck with our greatest enemy and in a place I didn't know. Yet. 
    All because of a man I had once called a father. He'd caused so much turmoil and ruckus in the system. There had to be a three-way war on two different fronts. Shadow Company, or Shepherd's little sheep, Russia, and America. All riled up and at war exactly as my father had wanted. Makarov was no different either. He wanted Americans dead. 
    Which made me question why I wasn't yet. 
    Makarov had ulterior motives in order to keep me breathing this long. He never would've made sure I lived if he didn't need something. My challenge was to figure out what without giving it to him. 
     Licking my lips, I felt the dryness of my throat. Water was no further than five steps away at the sink. Being latched to the bed made it nearly impossible to quench the thirst screeching at my throat. 
    The IV stuck in my arm along with all the other machines monitoring my body didn't assist in any way either. However...the remote just in reach of my fingers had potential. 
    As I reached for the remote, the door to my room opened. I snatched back to avoid being caught and to prepare myself for whatever hell was being introduced. 
    "Good morning," the nurse greeted in rough English. 
    "Where's Makarov?" I demanded. 
    "Time for your painkillers." 
    I glared as she opened up a cupboard and got down different bottles of pills. As she measured out the amounts, I reached for the remote again. My fingers cupped the bottom of it as I slid it closer. 
    Using quick fingers, I opened up the battery compartment. I removed a battery and ripped out a spring with two fingers. I worked quickly to pick the cuff on my right wrist—the only one I could reach. 
    The nurse continued to be unaware as I picked the cuff and released my right wrist. I was quick to do the same to the opposite side, freeing my hands entirely. It took everything in me not to scream from pain as I sat up to undo the straps around my ankles. 
    Free at last, I picked up one of the straps and sauntered out of bed. I charged at the nurse, wrapping the material over her throat. She choked as she attempted to free herself of the sudden, yet rather slow, death. 
    I released her and the strap when her jolting body grew still and her last breath came. My eyes searched the room for any sort of weapon as I prepared to make a run for it. Hell, I would fight my way out if I had to. 
    A slow, methodical clapping from the doorway made me spin around to face it. Makarov stood in the doorway, in a black suit with spiked hair, his dark eyes trained on every move I made. I clenched my fists from the disgusting sight of him. 
    "Well done Samantha," my name felt like acid coming off his lips. 
    A set up. All of it. 
    "You're a skilled little thing, aren't you?" he cocked his head. 
    I returned nothing, deciding to study him for any signs of weakness. The killer had to have something underneath that was a fault. Every enemy I'd dealt with did. 
    "Your friends are dead." 
    "I don't have friends." 
    He smirked. "Or family." 
    I wanted to lash out, but I forced myself to stay still. "And you seem to be in the same position." 
    "Yes," he stepped forward in a pacing motion. "That is because I killed all of them, of course." 
    "You're really nothing but a heartless, dickless monster." 
    That was enough to set him off. With the snap of his fingers, two of his men came in to restrain me. Everything they moved hurt enough to cry out, but I refrained by gritting my jaw. Makarov watched it all with a little too much amusement. 
    "Put her back into bed. She needs to rest," Makarov ordered. 
    The two burly soldiers hauled me up into the hospital bed and I wiggled in their grasps. They replaced the picked cuffs with more permanent ones and restrained my ankles again. I was very quickly spread out like opossum for Makarov to poke at. 
    "You need your rest," Makarov spoke in such a soft voice that I wanted to puke. "But first, I know you wanted water." 
    I watched as one of his men went over to the sink and filled a paper cup full of water. He brought it back to Makarov's hand, who hadn't stopped watching me once. My eyes followed the cup as he brought it to his own lips and drank. 
    "It's such a perfect temperature," he smirked and held the rim toward my lips; I wiggled away from the toxic water. "Now, you better drink this. It's all I'll give you." 
    I didn't want to drink from the cup he'd even touched, but I knew if I didn't get any hydration I could, I wouldn't be strong. I reluctantly pressed my lips to the cup's rim. 
    As the water touched my lips, I felt a relief from deep within my core. I closed my eyes to continue the stream into my mouth and Makarov pulled it away. With the water I had grabbed, knowing he'd give me very little, I spit it back into his face. 
    "Hope that suit wasn't too expensive." 
    Makarov stayed as impassive as possible, his fingers twitching around the cup. I watched him hand the cup back to the minion that'd brought it. In a thoughtful motion, Makarov then stood. 
    "Make sure she gets a good rest." 
    He swiftly exited the room as the second soldier turned from the counter. His fingers gripped a syringe with a clear liquid in it and I wiggled in my spot. Makarov's first guard held my head to the side as the other professionally stabbed my lower neck with the needle. 
    "Fuck...you," I was already growing sleepy by the second. 
    Makarov simply smirked from just outside the doorway, his sinister face following deep into my half-conscious state.