This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things - Russell Adler - Call of Duty

CH.1' Stitch *UPDATED*

The woods were an oppressive blanket of darkness, the towering trees standing like sentinels blocking out any light from the pale moon above. Every step I took sent echoes of my presence rippling through the still air, my heavy boots snapping twigs and crunching leaves beneath them. Each sharp crack seemed louder than the last, a betrayer's drumbeat marking my panicked escape. Somewhere far behind me, muffled shouting broke the silence. 

The sound twisted through the forest, growing louder and more distinct with each passing second. They were coming. I could feel it. My legs burned with effort as I pushed myself harder, faster, desperately trying to put more distance between myself and whoever—or whatever—was pursuing me.

Each breath came in ragged gasps, the cold night air searing my lungs. My chest heaved, struggling for more oxygen, but no matter how much I tried, it felt like I could never get enough. My head throbbed, the world spinning in dizzying circles, yet I couldn't afford to slow down. Trees blurred into dark, indistinct shapes as my vision narrowed, my focus shifting only to the uneven ground ahead.

Suddenly, as if the woods themselves conspired against me, I collided with something solid. The impact was jarring, sending me sprawling backward and knocking the air from my lungs. For a brief, bewildering moment, I thought I had hit a tree. But then I noticed the sharp flash of gold catching the faint light. As I blinked through the daze, the figure before me resolved into something unmistakably human. A body clad in a golden jacket.

The person I had collided with seemed just as startled, their breath catching as they stumbled back. For a moment, we both stood frozen, locked in a tense silence. My heart hammered in my chest as adrenaline spiked anew. Was this an ally—or another threat?

The distant shouts grew louder, reverberating through the trees like the haunting cries of predators closing in. My instincts screamed at me to run, but the presence of this stranger forced a split-second decision.

*Seven hours earlier*

Stitch's one remaining eye burned with a mix of pain and fury, the raw emotions etched into every line of his face. His chest heaved as he stormed through the narrow barracks, the tension radiating off him like heat from a wildfire. Without warning, he grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it over the bunks, the wooden frame clattering loudly as it splintered against the wall. His boot connected with a leather case resting on the floor, sending clothes spilling across the cold, tiled surface in a chaotic mess.

"Calm the fuck down, Stitch," I said, my voice firm but cautious as I knelt to gather the scattered clothes. My hands moved quickly, folding and stacking the garments as I tried to keep my focus off the storm raging in front of me.

He didn't respond immediately, his breathing heavy and ragged as he ran a hand through his hair. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw, his words dripping with venom. "Do you fucking see me, Bell?" he spat, his tone a blend of anger and something far more vulnerable. He jabbed a finger toward the darkened patch where his left eye had once been. "I've got one goddamn eye because of Russell fucking Adler."

His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, and his jaw tightened to the point I thought his teeth might shatter. The raw anger in his words felt like a physical force, filling the small room with an oppressive weight. I looked up from the clothes, meeting his glare for a brief moment.

"You think I don't know?" I said, my tone softer now, though I made sure not to let it falter. "But throwing shit around and breaking things isn't gonna change what happened."

For a moment, Stitch said nothing, his shoulders rising and falling as he fought to steady his breathing. His anger wasn't just rage—it was pain, betrayal, and a need for revenge all twisted together into something barely contained. I could see it in his eye, in the way his body trembled from the effort of holding himself back.