A/N: Here we go, first chapter of my first fanfic. The story is slightly AU. In this story Flynn from BFBC2 is still alive. Just keep in mind that this is my first fanfic and I'm only thirteen. Some concepts, like the sixteen and older draft, maybe a little drastic but stay with me with me here. Constructive criticism is welcome. Flamers will be countered with extreme kindness.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing from Battlefield. Good thing to because I would probably botch it. All OC's are mine and if you steal them I will come for you and kill you.

Welcome To Bad Company

BOOM. Heat. Blindness. Deafness. Silence.

A face hovered above mine; its cheeks were black with soot and red with blood. Its mouth made silent words, lost in the air. Slowly, the silence turned to ringing. The face came into greater focus.

A young teen stood over me, his dark hair matted with sweat and blood. He grabbed my shoulders and sat me up against a low wall. He laid a rifle across my lap, picked up his own, and ran off to join a group of marines across the street. I looked down at my body, to make sure everything is still there. One of my boots was gone; the other had a dark scorch mark over the heel.

A twisted piece of metal was imbedded in my vest; I pulled the shard from my chest, and reached for my boot, which lied about meter to my right. Screams of agony reminded me where I was. Sunset Blvd, Los Angles. Fighting for my life. It all came back to me. I scrambled for my boot, shoving it on before I dashed across the street, toward the group of marines.

A Staff Sergeant stood among them, barking orders. The shrill whine of incoming mortars droned out all other sounds except for the gun fire and screams of agony. Showers of pavement rained down on me as each shell landed. Bullets raked the ground around me. I made it across the street in one piece.

"You! Yeah You! New guy!" I looked round, searching for the source of the voice. "Over here you dumbass!" I looked behind me, the sergeant from before stood above me, despite the deadly projectiles whizzing by us. His gaze was locked on me, his eyes wild with blood lust. "Y-yes Sir?" I stammered, bewildered that he would ask me to do anything. "There's a command post a click north of here! I need you and Tom to go and request an air strike to flatten this street! There's no way we can hold it any longer!" He snarled. "Yes Sir!" I stood up, waiting for this Tom person to follow.

The boy from before stood up, cocking his M4. I just stared at him wondering how the hell a young boy like this ended up in a godforsaken place like this. "What are you waiting for, let's go." He said.

We sprinted down the road, toward the Hollywood Hills. I looked back just in time to see the sergeant and his squad be blown to smithereens by an RPG.

Silence. Calm. Strange things to find in the middle of battle. As Tom and I walked toward the command post we were met with an eerie silence. "So, how you end up in the Army?" I asked. "Didn't you here? Congress voted that all sixteen and older must fight." He said. "What!" I exclaimed, shocked. "Yep, it was getting that bad. So, how the hell you end up in the Marines? Questioned Tom.

"Didn't have anything to live for, so I thought if I was goanna' just waist my life might as well do it for a good cause." I said. "So you didn't join for all that "for my country and all that live there" shit. Said Tom. "Nope, just to be cannon fodder, but I guess this is better than being worked to death in a munitions factory." I pointed out.

By the way, what's your name? Asked Tom.

"Mason" I said

Our conversation was interrupted by the roar of an engine. Tom and I dove for the deck. A Russian fighter screamed overhead, towards Edwards Air Force Base. We picked ourselves off the ground and brushed ourselves off. "You're pretty jumpy for a marine." Tom Teased. "Aren't you a little short to be a storm trooper?" I retorted. Tom gave me a confused look. "You've never watched Star Wars?" I asked. "What's Star Wars?" He questioned. "Damn War." I muttered under my breath.

"Really!" I said not believing what my eyes were showing me.

The marine command post was inside a store named Erotic Art and Literature. Of all places, those jarheads had to pick this place. "A, Ok, Um… Tom stay here, and keep watch." I said awkwardly. "Yes father." He sneered. I ignored him and walked into the makeshift command post. At the counter a captain stood, shouting into a radio. Maps were pinned all over the walls, covering most of the questionable magazines. Marines worked throughout the shop, removing maps and radio equipment.

The captain angrily threw the radio on the ground. "Captain?" I asked "Yeah, what do you want." Snapped the captain. "I need an air strike on a position a click south of here." I said.

"I'm sorry son, all aircraft were pulled back to defend Edwards."

"What about artillery! Rockets?"

"All gone!" he said. They pulled back to the Piet Line! We're abandoning L.A.

Why!

"They got us completely cut off! The only way out is to fight our way out."

The whole room went silent.

The captain picked up a helmet and handed it to me. "You're goanna' need it."

"GO! GO! GO!" chunks of pavement flew everywhere, embedding its self in my soft flesh. The air was thick with bullets. A Russian peeped from his cover. A marine put a bullet through his head, splattering gore all over the wall behind him in a macabre display.

A huge explosion rocked the street, tossing huge chunks of concrete as if they were made of paper. "RPG!" I spotted the thin wispy trail of the deadly anti-tank projectile. It detonated in between to marines, throwing them in the air like ragdolls. One of them got right back up and kept running. The other didn't.

Two Russians took position inside a collapsed 7 Eleven and began to lay withering fire on us. I dove for cover, praying my luck would hold out. I was stopped dead mid lead, hitting something hard and metallic. Now instead of the whistling and popping of bullets whizzing by me, I heard the ping, ping, ping if bullets hitting steel.

I looked up, and saw the towering hulk of a burnt out tank.

Damn captain was right, I was goanna' need the helmet.

I looked beside me, seeing two marines vainly trying to neutralize the snipers. I turned to one and said, "Give me some covering fire, keep their heads down!" The marine nodded and cocked his M240B. I climbed onto the tank and prepared to make the sprint across no man's land. I heard a whistle. Tom was on the other side of the road, taking cover behind a wrecked Humvee.

He gave me the, "I'm going with you" look. I gave him a rude gesture and the, "Hell you are" look. I gave the signal, and the marine's unleashed hell. I flew. My feet barely touched the ground. Nothing could touch me. I made it to the ruined store. I saw a Russian holding an SVD. She had a look of utter shock at my sudden appearance, her blue eyes bright with fear. She opened her mouth in a silent scream. I raised my rifle, and shot her in the face. Bits of flesh and shards of bone rained down upon me.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a fist. There was an audible crack, and I felt something warm and sticky trickling down my face. My whole face stung. There was a flash of silver. I caught the burly Russians knife just in time. The rusted blade was inches from my throat. It became a battle of strength. He brought me to the floor. He began to chant something in Russian. Maybe a prayer. I don't know. All I know is that God must have been with me that day, because right when I thought that knife was going to pierce my heart, I heard the rip of an M16A3. Blood splattered everywhere, and the Russians grip on the knife loosened. I pushed the still warm corpse of the Russian off of me. The Captain stood in the door. He turned and kept running with the rest of his marines.

"Thanks" I muttered, even though he couldn't hear me.

We were safe, for now. We had escaped from L.A. The Army 7th Armored Brigade had arrived to reinforce the Piet Line. We were all reassigned. I was sent to the Army 222nd Infantry Brigade, 10th Mountain Division. They had taken heavy losses in the Battle of Santa Monica and needed reinforcements so badly HIGHCOMM reassigned the survivors of the 3rd Marine Division(which had taken nearly 97% losses) to them, despite being in a different branch of the Military. Tom was assigned to the 14th Support Battalion, also in the 10th Mountain. We said goodbye to the Captain and moved to are respective bases.

The 'bases' were really just hundreds of tents, all pitched around a prefab command building. Soldiers sat around camp fires, singing and telling stories. It was amazing how these soldiers could go from cold blooded killers to friendly and happy young adults. I walked around for a bit, searching for a tent. I got some confused looks from some of the Army grunts, wondering what a jarhead was doing here. I quickly removed my marine insignia. "Yo, jarhead! A large black man wearing a garrison cap was calling me from his tent. He wore sergeant's stripes.

"Sir!" I saluted.

"Don't give me any of that 'sir' crap, marine! I earn my living! Call me Sarge!" He corrected.

"Okay Sarge, you needed me?"

"I need another man in this squad." He said

"Why?"

"Don't ask why!"

"Ok…"

Sarge walked into the tent. I heard yelling from inside. After a few moments of silence two men walked out, one carrying an M14DMR. Sarge walked out from behind them. The first man, a tall, mustached man wearing a skull cap, presented his hand to me. "Names Haggard." He greeted in a thick southern drawl. I shook his hand. And the next man's, who had a kind, smiling face and wore an ACH helmet. "Preston". Said the other man.

"There's one more, Sweetwater, but he's at the CIC, trying to hack an internet connection." Explained Sarge.

"Why?"

"What I say about asking why!"

"Sorry"

"And together…" said Haggard

"We are…" said Sarge

"Bad Company." Finished Preston.

"So… what are we doing here again?" I asked.

The other men all groaned. "For the millionth time you dumbass, we're here to sabotage a Russian base." Snapped Sarge.

"No need to be an ass about it." I said.

"So jarhead, where are yah from?" drawled Haggard.

"Shut up Haggs, this is no place for chit chat." Reprimanded Sweetwater.

"Who the hell are you to order me to shut up!" countered Haggard

"Shut up both of you!" asserted Sarge.

"Guys, Russian Patrol! Find cover!" whispered Preston Urgently.

As the Russian patrol passed by, I once again recounted the events that brought me here. We had all gotten settled in the tent when we heard what sounded like whistles and cries of "stop, stop you traitor!" Then the flap of the tent was thrown open, and a terrified Sweetwater was thrown in.

An MP stood in the doorway, seething with rage and struggling for breath. "Sweets, what the hell happened?" Cried Sarge. "What do you think just happened, I got caught!"

The MP then said, "We have a mission for you, one I really hope you bastards don't come back from."

"Come with me, and Sweetwater, if I catch you trying to hack anything, I'll shoot you myself." Now come on!" Snarled the MP.

It was a complete suicide mission. We were getting no air support, no evac, and not even an insertion. We had to walk 12 miles before Sweetwater began to complain that his feet hurt. We found an abandoned Ford Grand Cherokee on Highway 7, and drove toward the valley.

Eventually our makeshift transport broke down, and we had to hoof it the rest of the way. This brings us to our current situation, stalking through Los Angeles in the dead of night.

The patrol passed. We continued on our way, toward L.A.'s port. Then, suddenly, Haggard raised a fist and stopped us. He sniffed the air. "I'd know that smell anywhere. BARBECUE!"

The barbecue starved Texan sprinted 'round the corner, not even taking the time to make sure there wasn't anything on the other side, waiting for them. "Haggs! Wait! You retard! This is Serdaristan all over again!" Cried Sarge.

We followed him around the corner, and I promptly crashed into him. He made a quick about face and stepped over me. "Sorry guys, my mistake, it's just a dead body." He nonchalantly walked down the street, whistling a merry tune.

"Does he do this often?" I asked

"A lot actually, even started a war once." Said Preston

"ALERT! ALERT! AMERICAN COMMANDOS! PREPARE THE SPETZNAZ!"

"Damn! It's an ambush! Scatter!

The rip of heavy machine guns was my signal to get the hell out of there. I hit the deck and rolled for cover. "Sweets! Give us some covering fire!" Ordered Sarge. The chatter of his M60 joined the cacophony. I stuck my head up to see what was going on. I strong hand pushed it back down. "Don't do that, it's a death sentence." Warned Haggard.

Then, all sound stopped. All was silent.

"The last time this happened…" Started Haggard

"TAAAANNNNKKKK!"

The steel behemoth thundered its way through an old building, raising tons of dirt and debris, causing it to disappear for a moment. When the tank reappeared it was nearly on top of us. The bore of the cannon seemed to be pointing right at me. The tanks engine snarled and barked, thick black exhaust blanketing the street. To my surprise, it just stopped.

"Shit! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Its goanna' fire!

Haggard grabbed my collar and practically dragged me from our cover. The tank fired right then, only moments to late. The 125mm canister projectile left the barrel at supersonic speed. The air near the tank began to boil. All oxygen was consumed by the rapidly expanding fireball. Then the shockwave hit us, throwing us from our feet.

"The hell?" I muttered.

"What a dumbass! He blew himself up!" cheered Haggard.

The hull of the tank stood on one and the street, charred and broken. The turret lay across the street, with the gun barrel bent at an awkward angle. The Russians, seeing that there ace in the hole was gone, turned and ran. Sarge and Sweetwater crawled from there cover.

"Any of you guys seen Pres? Asked Sweetwater.

"I'm down here!"

"Where the hell is 'down here'" Retorted Sweetwater

"Right below your feet!"

I looked down, and saw an open manhole.

"Damn Preston, you just have the worst luck don't you?" I commented.

"What you waiting for, let's go." Said Sarge.

"WHAT!"

"The russkies' know were here, so we're going to have to go underground." He explained.

"Oh come on!" Sweetwater whined.

"I don't care, long as we get to blow something up!" Said Haggard.

We all climbed down the ladder, into the L.A. sewer system. The tunnels stunk of, well, you know, and they were infested with rats. We walked, and walked, and walked.

"Dammit Pres! You got us lost!" Sweetwater griped.

"Trust me I kno…"

He was interrupted by the roar of an engine. We came to the nearest manhole, and I was 'elected' to go look. I heaved the heavy iron cap up and unto the asphalt. The fire that still burnt in the oil storage area nearly blinded me. This was the place. The Los Angeles Shipyards and the Russian Beach head.

"Guys, this is the place all right! I don't see any Russians either! This is almost too easy!"

Haggard eagerly climbed up after me. The others were not far behind him.

"I just have a bad feeling about this." Said Sarge

"Put your weapons down American Pigs!" Spat a strangely accented voice.

"Turn around slowly!" He continued.

"Damn" whispered Sweetwater.

There, standing behind us was what looked like the whole damn Russian Army. Tanks, Helicopters, Infantry, the whole nine yards. The man who had spoken had very tan skin and short hair. His dark, brooding eyes were filled with hatred. He spoke in a French accent. On his expensive looking shirt was a strange seal, surrounded by the words "Acta Non Verba".

"The Legionnaire, I thought we killed you in Sadiz!" Spat Sarge.

"Apparently not! I am standing right here, completely unharmed!"

"Whatever they did to you, I had no part in it!" I pleaded.

The irate man turned to me. "Yes you did! Do you remember Operation Blind Justice?"

I thought for minute. Then it came to me. Operation Blind Justice was an attack on the headquarters of the Legionnaire mercenaries, who were working with the Russians. A platoon of marines, led by Sgt. Blackburn, had captured a large stash of gold in the Legionnaire Mansion. I was in that platoon.

"You all stole from me in some way, after the loss of my gold in Russia and the loss of my gold in France, I was left flat broke!"

"But wait, how in the world did you end up here?" questioned Sweetwater.

"You see, there were many, investors, all of whom were very angry when my company died. Some in Russia, some right here in the United States. All of them are very influential, and through their help I was able to secure myself this army, and get you to walk right into my trap. Sgt. Blackburn has already been taken care of by my associate Solomon. By killing you my revenge will be complete."

"But enough of this idle chit chat, Colonel, take these men and restrain them. Don't treat them to rough, I want them at my home in one piece."

"Don't you dare touch me!" growled Haggard

"Haggard, don't fight, we'll find a way out of this. Said Preston.

The Legionnaire spat at our feet and turned with regal grace toward his new KA-53. The Russians pushed us roughly toward a waiting five ton truck.

We were thrown into the truck bed. The tarp was closed and we were left in darkness. The truck rumbled and began to creep forward.

"Would anybody care to explain what the fuck just happened?" I interrogated.

"Back in Serdaristan we found lots of Legionnaire gold. After a lot of chasing and actually going AWOL, we found it. It made us filthy rich, but there was no way we were going to be able to enjoy it because the war escalated." Explained Sweetwater.

"And my retirement got postponed, AGAIN." Interrupted Sarge.

"Anyway, we thought we had killed him, but apparently not. Looks like this whole mission was a trap."

"Does this mean that there may be a rat in the ranks?" I asked.

"No doubt about it."

There were a few moments of silence.

"What do you think is going to happen to us?"

"Would you stop asking questions jarhead!"

"Ok"

"Did you hear that?" Whispered Haggard.

"Hear what?"

"It sounds like a helicopter."

"Probably just The Legionnaires."

"No, it's too quiet to be a KA-53."

"Well maybe it's a Hi…"

!

The truck lurched to the side. I could feel the heat from the fire ball through the tarp. Shrapnel cut tiny holes through the canvas, allowing me to see out. Russian soldiers swarmed around us, firing at an unknown target in the air. There was a shrill whine and another explosion. The roar of a helicopter was unmistakable.

"That has to be U.S. Army! I'd now the shriek of a hellfire anywhere!" Cheered Haggard.

"I hope they don't hit us!" Responded Sweetwater.

Then came the sound of a bullet hitting metal. The truck came to an abrupt stop, causing me to crash into Preston. I could hear gurgling from the cab. The Rear Tarp was cut off, and there, silhouetted against the inferno raging behind them, were two U.S. Army rangers and Tom.

"Tom! What the hell are you doing here!"

"Saving your ass! Now, let's go!"

We jumped from the truck and followed the rangers. Along the way we picked up some AK-74s. The convoy was a mess. The two tanks on escort were hit first, now they were burning wrecks. The Russian infantry was too focused on the Helicopters to notice us escaping. The engine noise was quickly becoming deafening. I was blinded by a light. The light moved off us and shut off. There, hovering above the asphalt was a Blackhawk. The rangers shoved us into the helicopter and joined their brothers in the slaughter of the Russians.

"Hey Guys, haven't seen you in a while!"

A long haired, white shirted, cigarette smoking hippie, was flying a military helicopter.

"Thank God its Flynn!" gasped Haggard.

"Come on; let's get yah out of here."

Flynn took the helicopter up and out of the maelstrom of fire. The sound of battle of quickly died down. On the horizon the sun began to creep up, oblivious to what it had missed during the night. Only then did the nights events began to catch up with me.

My God, he wants revenge on me. I didn't do anything to him! Well, I did take a bar for myself, but everybody did. And if there is a rat in the ranks, who can we trust? I know that MP was bribed. That will explain the lack of support. Did he already get his revenge on the others? He mentioned Sergeant Blackburn. Oh God! He must already be dead. Looks like these fools have survived though. Maybe if I stay with them I'll be safe.

I was shaken from my thoughts by the blaring of an alarm in the cockpit.

"Oh great! Uhhhh, Guys, this is your captain speaking, we have a missile incoming, and you may want to hold on to something." Warned Flynn.

The eccentric pilot pulled the million dollar aircraft into a steep dive. The missile missed by mere inches and hit the W in the Hollywood sign. Flynn put the aircraft into a flick and a half roll, something not usually possible with a helicopter. The jet black KA-53 stayed with every move the Blackhawk made. The six of us inside the passenger cabin were being tossed about like we weighed no more than small rocks.

I rolled toward the door of the helicopter, which was still open. I felt my legs slip over the abyss. I soft yet strong hand grabbed my collar. It pulled me back into the UH-60 and set me next to the 7.62mm mini gun.

"Dammit man, you owe me a lot for saving your ass twice!" said a very smug Tom.

"Hey, can one of you get on the Gatling and get this bastard off us!" Requested Flynn.

Haggard pushed me into the gunner seat.

"Do you know how to use one of these babies?" He asked over the roar of the engines.

"I think so…"

I pressed the trigger buttons and waited for it to fire. Nothing happened.

"You have to turn on the power you dumbass!"

I quickly mumbled an apology for my stupidity and powered the weapon up. 12.7mm rounds from the Legionnaires helicopter thundered through the armor, causing me to expedite my efforts. I finally saw the green light and lugged the heavy weapon around on its pedestal.

"Eat lead you French bastard!"

The mini gun shredded the still night air. Bright orange tracers sped toward the shark like silhouette in the distance. The alligator banked right and barrel rolled to avoid my fire.

This guy won't die!

The enemy helicopter was brightly illuminated when it fired a second missile. I could clearly see the grimacing face of the Legionnaire.

Flynn put the helicopter into a Split S maneuver and brought us mere feet from the ground. The missile hit the ground directly beneath us. Our helicopter was enveloped in a huge fireball, scorching the black paint and causing me to jump away from the scorching hot Gatling. I looked back to where the Legionnaire had just been, but all I saw was open sky.

"YEEE HAAA! You ain't shootin us down this time! This time we got the one and only Flynn!" Cheered Haggard.

"Haggard, you do realize that I was the one flying last time?" Reminded Preston.

"A rat in the ranks! A rat! That's how the Stovies knew where are big guns were! That's how they knew the Navy was going to make a surprise counter attack! Because of you we lost the carrier Kitty Hawk and three destroyers! Because of you we were forced to abandon L.A.! Because of you I nearly lost my best BlackOps operators! Ranted Lieutenant General Mark Q. Scraurtz.

"If it wasn't for this brave soul warning me of your intention to assassinate me, well, you must know what would happen!" Said the infuriated general gesturing to Tom.

"You! You of all people! I trusted you! You had a very high security clearance! Mike One Juliet, AKA Lassa Blacktooth, are hereby accused of high treason! You will be sent to Leavenworth military prison for trial and subsequent execution. May you burn in hell! Take her away!

The smug faced traitor was led from the room. The general turned to us, the fury in his eyes replaced by gratitude and respect.

"Thank you for all your efforts. Your valor will not go unnoticed. You all saved me from assassination and this army from collapse. You will all get several days of R&R. You deserve it. Dismissed!"

We snapped the customary salute and left the room.

"You glad you didn't go out with her now, Sweets?" Taunted Preston.

"Shut it, new guy"

"Hey I ain't the new guy, he is." Retorted Preston, pointing behind me, at Tom!

"Wait, Tom is the new guy?"

"Yeah, you already went on a mission with us and lived, he hasn't."

We had made it back to the tent, just the way we had left it, except for six sleek black boxes on the floor.

"Oh Fuck Yeah! New guns!" Said Haggard, doing a little happy dance which involved him cackling madly and swooping around with his arms held aloft.

On mine there was a note.

Dear Mason,

I have her. I must say you have fine taste in women. She is with me right now. If you ever want to see her again surrender yourself and the rest of your squad. If you don't come in the next week I will kill her. You will pay for what you have done to me.

Sincerely,

The Legionnaire.

P.S. Hope you like the new guns, they were a gift from Lassa.