A Call of Duty Fanfiction

He climbed up the ladder, an AK-47 slapping on the back of his fatigues as he touched the last rung to the second floor. He held his breath, pulled himself up and over onto the dusty floor, then waited, prone. One breath, two breaths, three breaths- nothing. He silently exhaled and slowly began to move. Small clouds of dirt kicked up under his feet to cloak him, clinging to his clothes for dear life.

God, he hated dust. No matter how hard he washed, he always found some clot of dust buried deep within the folds.

It was just as hard to get out as blood. He smiled and reached for the Dragunov leaning against the wall. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to worry about blood this time. Automatically, he checked the magazine- it was half empty. Odd. When soldiers leave weapons lying around, they're usually loaded and ready for action. A stain of blood on the broken window pane caught his eye, and cautiously, he pressed himself up against the wall and peeked down. A bloody mass in the vague shape of a human lay stark against the uneven pavement below. He winced in sudden sympathy- what a way to go.

Something shifted in the shadow of a distant alley, then erupted into a lone marine hurtling down the road, desperately throwing grenades behind him. In the window, still unnoticed, he pulled up the sniper rifle and had it aimed by the time his target successfully ran out the alley's sight. The marine slowed from his sprint, glanced to his left, right and behind once more before taking cover behind a concrete barrier.

It was conveniently located to block his sights.

Ah well. His fingers found the extra magazine on the floor and shoved it in without taking his eyes away. No reason to sit with only three shots left.

The moment he fixed his sights on the block, the marine inched along the wall, flickering in and out of near-space less cover. First a car, then a low wall, then a broken-windowed bus... He impatiently pulled out of his sights and glanced ahead of the marine. There was plenty of cover- except for a small crater where a fruit stand used to be. It would be his only shot before the marine rounded the corner out of sight, but it would be the only one he'd need. He slid back to the marine, nearly skipping over him completely as he steadily shuffled along.

Amazingly, he had not strayed or even ducked his head- he was just as he left him.


He waited as patiently as he could while the soldier evaluated the gap and hesitated, reaching the same dangerous conclusion. Cross the gap, he mouthed, zooming in. A second passed, two seconds, and he tentatively stepped forward. He was rewarded with a flower-shaped explosion where his head used to be.


Without warning, his teammate sprinted around the corner, slowing only to bring his light machine gun to bear… and to trip over his teammate's headless body. He zoomed in and swore under his breath as his second Dragunov bullet left a small hole where his fresh target's head was lined up just seconds before, showering the gunner with red-brown chunks. The gunner popped out of cover, swinging the gun 'round with his finger jammed down hard on the trigger. Overripe melons burst, a car began to smoke and finally caught fire and exploded, and stands struggled to hold merchandise while their supports weakened.

Another sharp crack reverberated, struck the street just by his foot, and the gunner reacted, swinging all the more wildly. A third- the gunner dove to cover, and then out to fire randomly, then back and out to shoot again in a wide circle, completely hopeless at spotting the sniper. He smiled to himself through the crosshairs.

This was fun. He decided to fire again, this time right behind the gunner. The soldier jumped, his eyes rolling around wildly like a terrified horse before he resumed dashing around in circles like a headless chicken, screaming a battle cry.

Above him, the man behind the scope smiled sadistically as he hissed to himself alone. "Run little piggy," he breathed, refocusing on the pink-faced marine's head. "Run."

Crack! Another burst of red, very much like the too-ripe melons from before, flashed in his sights. Another confirmed kill.


He lowered his sights, feeling more than a little satisfied with his day's work. Two kills within five minutes, he mused. Good- very good. Maybe not much compared to his P90-carrying brother, but for a sniper-

He froze as he saw a flicker of red, not from a headshot, but from his radar... And it was close. He spun around, clawing to get his AK-47 free, and found himself staring down the barrel of a W1200 shotgun.


He didn't hear the deafening bellow of the pump-action shotgun, so unlike the sharp and precise crack of his sniper rifle. He only noticed the bright, stunning pain where the left side of his body used to be. Then, feeling as though time went by in thousands of years instead of a whisper, he was lying on the floor, the room darkening beyond the red sheet of his own blood. His killer ignored him, barking into his mike, "I just told you there was a sniper in here! God, you frickin' noob!"