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

Chapter 4

Three Weeks Later
    "Russians have descended on the United States in full force," the television report was in Russian and I translated quickly as I sat in the waiting room. "While they have retaliated, Russia continues to match it..."
    "Kristina?"
    I looked away from the screen as my name was called in Russian. "That's me!"
    The woman smiled warmly and then waved me into the hair salon. She led me to an empty black chair, picking up a cape. I sat gingerly, looking at myself in the mirror.
    I was skinnier than normal, my jawline sharp and intimidating to the innocent eye. My eyebrows were now cleaned up and my face had been cleared with water. Hazel eyes popped out from my longer lashes and held a dangerous wisdom, a murderous haze.
    In Russian, the hair stylist addressed me. "What are we doing today?"
    "I want to strip the color on my hair."
    "Going back to natural?"
    I narrowed my eyes in the mirror, smirking. "Yes."
    She got to work immediately, leading me around to different stations for washing, trimming, and stripping the coloring from my hair. My hair had always been colored throughout my military life, never exposing any truth to myself except my face or eyes. Now, it was time for a change; now I would change the color from the memory of my mother to what it truly was.
    With the color change and the face makeover—a general clean-up truly—I'd be harder to detect. That, and when I got my chance at Makarov again I wanted him to fear the real me; the Task Force had softened me in the short amount of time of being a part of the team and it was time to leave that behind.
    "Want any off the ends?"
    "No," I responded swiftly in Russian. "I like it longer."
    "Well, at least let me curl it lightly. Add a little flare," the stylist smiled.
    I smirked and looked at my dry hair, now a dark brown. The falsely advertised golden brown locks were gone. Now I was an older version of a young girl with wavy dark hair and dreams in her eyes...minus the dream part.
    "Thank you," I told the stylist when she'd finished.
    I moved out of the styling room, ignoring the looks of awe from customers waiting. The tight shirt I wore was shorter, showing off a bit of my abdomen, and the black pants were just as much so. Now that my hair was back to being a deep chocolate brown, I didn't even look like someone who dealt with blood well.
    "Your total is 2437.04," the Russian man at the front counter announced with a pleased expression on his face.
    The Russian ruble was worth much less than the American dollar. I pulled out a fifty, setting it on the counter. The assistant was in shock.
    "Keep the change," I spoke in Russian.
    Turning around, I walked out of the decent hair salon. The annoying heels I wore raised my height up about four inches and clicked as I made my way outside onto the sunny city street. People shopped and walked around in distraction, completely unaware of who or what they were affecting by doing so. Likely none of them were even thinking of the war going on.
    I headed down the street to where a sit-down restaurant bustled in the busy day. My seat had already been reserved prior to my hair makeover.
    "Kristina, yes, your seat is ready. This way," the server greeted in Russian.
    I smiled and followed the busty female to my seat. She filled the empty wine glass with fine liquid and then motioned to my menu.
    "Let me know when you've decided."
    She left the tableside without another word. I sighed and sipped on the sweet, flavorful wine. It wasn't often I drank or ate fulfilling meals. I had to admit to taking advantage of it, even despite the part played was in my plan.
    It wasn't long before I ordered and was eating on the rather delicious meal. Alone at last. The people around didn't recognize me as American nor as a soldier. In their eyes I was just another person eating at the restaurant to herself.
    It was relieving.
    "Excuse me," a waiter paused at my table. "There is a phone call for you at our side door. Asking for your name."
    I wiped my mouth to avoid laughing. "It's about time."
    As I got up, I flicked my hair over my shoulder. I held a smirk as I approached the desk and took the phone call. The waitress moved away to give privacy.
    "You take a long time."
    "You're terrible at hiding," the hiss that came from the phone made me huff.
    "I wasn't trying to," I gazed around at the tables.
    "You can't see me," Makarov held amusement. "However, I can see you and every move you make."
    So that explained the pressure on the back of my neck. It happened whenever a gun was aimed my direction. Wherever Makarov's sniper was located, his soldier had me in his sights.
    "You broke a deal."
    "There wasn't ever a deal made."
    There was temporary silence. "You get one more chance."
    Interesting new game. Second chances?
    "I want you to bring Price to me."
    I cocked my head, narrowing my gaze. I'd thought about tracking the old man down a few times over the weeks. Giving him a run for his money for abandoning me sounded pleasing.
    "And after?"
    "I'll leave everything between us be and I will drop the terrorist label on your head."
    Lies. He would send someone to kill me. I'd just have to kill him first. Interesting to know I was currently a terrorist...
    "His last whereabouts were in Northern India."
    "I don't need that," I growled.
    "How long do you expect to take?"
    I thought a moment. I'd have to interrogate some of Makarov's men in order to gain access to Price's trail. After that, I gave myself a few days to hunt him down and then end his life; Makarov wouldn't have a chance at him.
    "A week."
    I could practically hear the smugness through the phone. "Excellent. What weapons do you need?"
    "I don't need any."
    Hanging up the phone, I sent a glare out the window to the fourth floor of hotel across the street. There was a flash of a rifle scope as the sniper removed himself from the opening.
    I turned and headed back out of the restaurant, not bothering to pay for the meal; my head was focused on the current situation more than anything. My pace quickened as I crossed the street and headed into the hotel.
    "Do you have a room here miss?"
    "Yes, fourth floor," I dismissed the frantic bellboy. 
    From the small purse over my shoulders and resting at my waist, I pulled out my stolen knife. I stepped into the open elevator and narrowed my eyes in preparation, gripping the handle tighter.
    The elevator moved quickly to the fourth floor as I stood patiently. Through the glass walls, I could make out people moving from hallway to hallway. They were unaware of the killer in the building and the deal about to be made.
    Reaching the fourth floor, I calmly made my way to the curve of the rooms. The room of the sniper was clearly the cornered one, a suite by the looks of it. I lightly knocked on the heavy door.
    There was a grunt and then lazy footsteps. The door opened part of the way, revealing a thick, bearded man's face. His eyes widened upon seeing me and I rammed into the door.
    He was knocked backwards as the door smacked the wall and revealed the rest of the room. I stepped in, descending on the bastard without remorse. A woman on the bed screeched, covering herself as I slammed the door shut.
    "What do you want?" the man cried out, trembling as I clutched his shoulder. 
    "Where did Makarov go?"
    "He left just minutes ago!"
    "Good," I smiled and then cut his throat.
    The woman screamed and then struggled to get out of the bed. I stood straighter, seeking the abandoned uniform of the smaller Russian soldier.
    "Relax, I won't kill you unless you give me a reason," I rolled my eyes at the frantically breathing woman.
    She fell silent, watching me as I picked up the bundle of clothes. I changed before her, slipping on the padding and vest over the baggier uniform, the larger boots. I picked up his rifle, finding his vest full of extra ammo, and his keys on the desk.
    The woman shifted nervously when I looked at her. I held up a finger to my lips and then smiled, only panicking her more.
    "Excuse me for interrupting. Perhaps you can finish things yourself now." The prostitute just about passed out as I turned and made my way for the door.

✧~✧~✧

Only including a picture for reference of what Samantha is now looking like. Sometimes the book cover doesn't quite do enough ;)
Hope you're enjoying the dangerous beginning to this book so far. Things are about to get really heated soon. Enjoy!
~MS~