#bo1

When you turn this picture over, it says 12/22 (most likely of 1967). That is the last known instance we see Adler without his scars.

Then the first known instance we do see him with his scars is in this cutscene with Stitch.

It's implied that the interrogation took place after Rebirth Island, but that's simply not possible for his scars to look as healed as they are—if it happens right after, at least. And we're never really given a proper date to when it does.

What we do know is that Stitch was contacted by Perseus in 1972 in Petropavlovsk Gulag, which gives a 4 year window between that and the Rebirth Island Raid; for Stitch getting interrogated, escaping, punished by Kravchenko and sent to the Gulag. My bet? '69, since it gives Adler a year to heal, and a plausible time period of Stitch being held in custody.

And bonus, we do get these undated photos of Adler in the Fracture Jaw briefing cutscene.

[Credit to @adlerboi]

In fact, if I could keep going, I'd go as far as theorising that he got his scars in the fall of MACV-SOG. Yeah, the mission you play in BO1.

These photos are of a very scarred and very cursed looking Adler way back in Vietnam itself. Meaning that's where he has to have gotten them. That's it; ladies and gents and non binaries, we got em, lock it in.

C'mon, Adler not being called in to defend as literally MACV falls? Especially when he's in such close proximity? Mason even recollects it:

We were after a different spy (the defector) in KheSanh. That's right. Our team was right next to Adler's when we touched down in Hue City.

Maybe he was also being literal; maybe he was saying that Adler's unit was literally next to theirs right there, defending a different part of the compound while they went in to secure the defector.

But even if he isn't, I find it hard to believe that Adler wouldn't be there to defend from the compound being overrun. We don't see him—cause he wasn't created yet—but it doesn't mean he couldn't have been in a different part of the same conflict.

Also, the Rebirth Island Raid happens right after—which he was part of, and the following Nova 6 crisis. And then his work with Stitch, chasing Perseus, etc etc; so this was likely his last operation in Vietnam, which makes also makes it the last opportunity for him to get scarred.

Why I'm fixated on just this idea is cause it'd track with one of the stories Adler tells us in BO6:

Got hit by shrapnel in Hue City—this was back in '68. Hurt like hell.

The details check out, and there really aren't many more opportunities for the story to happen in that timeframe. Plus, it does feel like Adler to drop the actual story like it's a fib.

There was also the possibility of it being from Fracture Jaw, which could also make sense; Perseus being the indirect reason he got his scars is pretty neat and gives Adler a reason to call him his lifelong nemesis. But me personally, I doubt Adler would give Bell his memories of that very vulnerable event for the sake of a memory exercise. And I don't really think Fracture jaw was that massive of a fuckup; the helicopter crashed—which is about as common for COD characters as finding a three leaf clover—and they had to defend from VC for like 5 seconds till Napalm came in. Doesn't really feel that plausible, but it's a possibility, I suppose.

I still really like my own hypothesis, inaccurate as it may be. Adler's called in for reinforcements at Hue City, he gets overrun, tanks were rolling in and a strike next to him got his face in the ongoing mayhem. Air support makes it in time to rescue the wounded, saving him, but the scars leave their mark permanently. Literally, and figuratively.

Conclusion: Adler got his scars in early '68, in Vietnam.

But that's just a theory, A GAME THEO–

Frank Woods clearly had never met a woman before.

That was the natural conclusion one would come to, after seeing how he interacted with one. Especially a woman in the military who was on active duty, and not just a secretary or some CIA lapdog.

He was rough around the edges, and you didn’t mind that, hell, you were an active-duty Marine. You’d gone through basic training, survived the screaming and orders, and shed a few tears before wiping them and getting back up. But he was only rough around the edges to everyone else, and that made your blood boil.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with you.

“You cut out for this?”

Had been the first sentence he’d said to you after you’d been handpicked to join his team. His expression, an eyebrow raised, something like doubt that you could’ve sworn was in his eyes.

You’d given the look right back, looking him up and down, giving a once over in a more im-sizing-you-up than a taking-you-in kind of way. Maybe you’d had a bit of sass to your tone.

“You think I’m not?”

It had been more of a challenge than a question, a sharp brow cocked at him. The man to his left, an operative named Alex Mason, you’d learn later, had grimaced slightly.

Woods had chuckled, raising his hands in a gesture of mock innocence, before replying.

“No need to get all pissy, hon, just want to make sure you can keep up. This ain’t exactly any normal team—“

Hon. Something like pissed disbelief was on your face as the rest of his words went unheard in your temporary shock before you gave a little huff of mock laughter.

“I’ll keep up just fine, sweetheart.”

You laid the mocking tone on thick with the ‘sweetheart’, walking forward and slamming the paperwork you’d been given into Wood’s chest while walking past him. The little flicker of surprise that went across his face was enough to satisfy you for quite a while.

As you walked away, you heard a sigh from Mason, and Woods mumbling something under his breath.

That had been the beginning of your rivalry with the man, and his every action drove another needle into your skin.

From mission to mission, he repeatedly displayed his complete lack of trust or faith in you. You could understand being skeptical of someone who had just joined your team, but it was getting ridiculous

“Mason, take point.”

It was Mason’s fifth time taking the lead. He hadn’t asked you to even once. Never mind if you enjoyed the view of Woods’ ass when he was in front of you, or the way you could see his muscular thighs moving on some parts when he had to climb over something.

Or when he’d be demeaning.

“Here, I can hold it.”

Your 15-pound weapon. Sure, it was getting heavy, but you didn’t need any help. Not from him, or any man for that matter.

“I can handle it.”

You’d ground out, shooting him a look, trying not to watch how the muscles of his arms flexed slightly as he shifted, the sweat beaded on him, and the few little drops down his forehead. Or how good his tactical vest looked on him.

“Whatever you say, sweets.”

You hated it when he called you that. It felt demeaning, and worse, it sounded hot when the names rolled off his tongue with the little bit of a low rasp that his voice had.

Or worse, when there was a grenade thrown. The first time it had happened, you couldn’t decide between throttling him or jumping his bones right then and there.

“Grenade!”

You’d heard the clatter, and being in an enclosed room, had been decidedly fucked. It had been a few feet away, and when you’d gone to move, you had been jolted forward, a pair of arms wrapping around you, and slammed into the dirt ground on your side.

You’d smelt the cheap cigarette smoke on his breath and the balm he used in his beard, and known it was Frank fucking Woods who’d tackled you.

The explosion had gone off, dust kicking up everywhere and shrapnel flinging itself in every direction but somehow barely nicking either of you.

His hot breath had fanned against your neck, mouth mere inches from your neck. His arms were squeezing tight around your torso, almost to the point of pain, but just not quite. One of his legs was thrown over yours, foot hooking around your ankle and pulling you back into him.

It was an oddly intimate position, and not just because of the fact that he had very likely just saved your life.

It might’ve been his hard-on pressed against your ass.

For a moment, there was just silence and the sound of both of you panting. Adrenaline and something else was running through your veins. You shifted and glanced back at him, taking one look at his heated stare and blown pupils, the way his tongue darted out to lick his too-chapped lips, and knew that things couldn’t go back to normal.

The moment had been interrupted by Mason, walking in and telling you both to wrap it up, only to take a very bewildered double take a moment later as he realized what he’d seen.

“Get off me, bastard.”

“A thank you would be nice.”

“Thanks for not flattening me, fatass.”

After that, the line between professional and something else had blurred, and you didn’t know where either of you were now. Too afraid to cross, unsure if you already had, and not eager to take the first step.

It had escalated from little lingering glances during debriefs, to the smallest brushes of touch between insults, to now, wearing his trademark green slip of fabric as a ponytail holder and not hesitating to flank him alongside Mason.

A rocky, unsteady trust was built, though more out of necessity than want.

You had slowly become his weak spot. Heated touches and looks, wanton gazes, made the entire team tense. The anticipation of waiting for something to finally happen between you two, for someone to take the first step despite the animosity both of you showed.

It had come to a head on a specific mission.

It should’ve been simple, get in, get the information the CIA wanted, and get out. Key word: should’ve.

Not clad in your usual military gear, opting for normal black clothing to keep hidden. If everything went right, you wouldn’t need a bulletproof vest or any gear, anyway.

Everything had gone fine right up until the point where it hadn’t. You had managed to slip past the guards quickly, in the outside base, Frank following, Mason stationed nearby to provide an eye on everything.

“All clear.”

His voice came over the radio.

You turned the corner, moving to a small building where you heard the crackle of a radio, and slowly opened the rickety metal door, scanning for anybody in it.

Clear.

“Moving into a building.”

You’d muttered, holding a small button on the radio clipped to your vest to relay the message to Mason.

“Copy that. Keep quiet.”

Woods snorted at that.

“Great advice.”

He muttered, closing the metal door behind him and twisting the small lock on the handle, standing up from his crouched position and stretching his back with a small groan.

“Like you’re any better.”

You shot him a look, moving to the table with the radio and observing it, fiddling with a few buttons before deciding there wasn’t anything valuable. The rest of the contents of the table, not as useless, not at all.

“Isn’t this what we need?”

You asked in a skeptical tone, looking at a few of the files on the table, all classified information that they’d carelessly left out. Woods had leaned in, just a bit too close to you, and shrugged.

“Fuck if I know. Probably.”

He glanced back at them, then at the stairs to the second floor.

“Gonna head upstairs, see if anything good’s up there.”

His definition of good was an explosive, a gun, or money, so you weren’t exactly confident he’d find anything actually useful for the mission.

You opened the files, skimming over the information inside, missing the subtle click of background noise that you had probably assumed was Woods shuffling around upstairs. A few quiet footsteps, and then something solid was slammed into your head.

Pain blossomed through your body as an adrenaline rush began pumping through your veins, and you grunted at the pain of the blow before turning—more being grabbed, and thrown to the floor before you could even attempt a defense.

Your hands pushed at the enemy soldier above you, kicking and clawing at him, trying to yell only for his gloved hand to smother your mouth.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The hand over your mouth quickly went around your neck, squeezing just tight enough for you to start losing the ability to think straight while running out of oxygen.

“Fuck off—“

You ground out, eyes going over to the stairwell as you saw a blurry figure stalk down them. Just as your vision began turning to black, objects turning to blurry flecks of color as your eyes watered, the man above you was suddenly ripped off as Woods wrestled him to the ground.

You took a desperate gasp of air, lungs burning with it as your throat ached, the pain in your head barely beginning to subside.

Moving to get to your feet, you watched as the man collided to the floor with Frank, your coworker’s fist slamming into the soldier’s face with a strength you hadn’t seen from him in….ever.

The man grabbed his pistol, hand barely gripping it as he used it to pistol whip Woods right in the nose, before you scrambled over and wrestled the gun out of his hand, seeing his finger going for the trigger before you snatched it, and aligned it with his temple before firing.

The grunting and sounds of fighting suddenly died down completely, the mystery soldier going limp, and Woods rolling off of him.

“Jesus,”

He muttered, wiping at his bleeding nose, his knuckles scraped and bloody. Maybe it was the lightheadedness from being choked out, or the adrenaline making your blood rush through your body, but goddamn did he look hot.

He glanced up at you, both of your eyes meeting, and for a split second there was dead silence other than both of your ragged breathing before you lunged and this time, you tackled him to the floor.

Your lips collided with his, body landing right on top of his as your hands went to grab his face, not letting him move an inch other than closer to you. He hummed, almost fucking moaning into it, shoving his tongue right into your mouth with no qualms, only to let out a huff of laughter through his nose when you pushed right back.

He rolled over, trapping you against the concrete floor, not being surprised when your hands shifted right down to his chest and tried pushing him back onto his back.

Your mouths separated long enough for him to gasp in a breath of air before slamming right down into you again, his rough, calloused hands sliding under your shirt, feeling up every inch of your skin until reaching your bra, only to get kneed in the dick by none other than you.

You ended the kiss for the moment, pushing him off of you, watching as he groaned and cradled his crotch.

“Bitch,”

He panted out, no real ire in his tone, a near-feral grin on his face as he watched you get up, knees nearly buckling.

“I’d rather not repeat earlier, dumbass. If you’re gonna fuck me—“

Your sentence was interrupted with a grunt as you grabbed a nearby metal cabinet, and moved to push it in front of the door so you didn’t have anyone interrupting either of you. He watched you struggle for a moment, before getting to his feet, and planting his feet on the ground while shoving the cabinet alongside you.

“—we aren’t getting interrupted.”

You finished once the cabinet was moved, watching as he grabbed it and picked it up with an astounding ease too, shifting it to an angle against the door, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Show off.”

You scoffed. He let out a little chuckle at that, turning to you with a raised brow.

“Barricades go at an angle. I’ve told you that before.”

Stupid banter and teasing was all it was. You looked him up and down, eyes lingering on certain areas, before replying.

“I was a bit distracted.”

He was a sight like this. Bloodied knuckles, dried blood on his face, sweaty and clearly on some kind of high from adrenaline, spit smeared on his beard.

“Oh, I’ll show you distracted.”

The hint of a threat made something fire up in your veins as he wrapped a single one of his arms around your waist, lifting and throwing you over his shoulder, ignoring your little “Hey—!”, as he carried you to the desk, his other arm impatiently swiped all of the important documents to the ground as he set you down on the desk.

“I hate you,”

You said, giving him an indignant look before leaning forward and hurriedly resuming the earlier kiss you had abruptly ended, his beard tickling your face as you moved your hands to slip under his shirt, feeling up from the little pudge of his stomach, to the hard muscle of his torso, to his hairy chest, and back down.

He caught on quickly, groaning as he shoved his hands under your shirt in return, rough, calloused hands feeling up every inch of your skin, the fat and muscle of it, up to your bra.

He pulled away just a moment, panting for air, fingers lingering at the edge of your bra. He raised his brows in question.

“Go on,”

“Thought you hated me?”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, cupping your breasts and squeezing, kneading the fat of them as your breath caught in your throat. Your hands moved to his shirt, pawing at it until catching the end and yanking it upwards. He flashed a cocky grin, pulling his hands out from your shirt, quickly stripping out of his shirt, revealing the thin layer of fat covering his muscular physique.

You practically clawed your shirt off, feeling overheated in it now, anyway, the bra soon to follow.

“Fuuuck,”

He groaned as he saw you, his hands itching to touch you anywhere and everywhere, need building in his gut as he began a slow, heated trail of kisses from your jawline, down your neck and collarbone, taking care to suck and bite on the skin there, leave his mark, all the way down between the valley of your tits, your stomach, until he reached your pants.

A little glance up at you for confirmation, and he was pulling them down with an almost embarrassing desperation, though Frank Woods would never be embarrassed of being desperate for you.

Your underwear was yanked down as he dropped to his knees, the hard impact of the concrete barely registering as he wrapped his hands around your thighs, letting you choose to spread them, and fucking buried his face in your cunt.

“Jesus fucking—Frank!”

Too much too fast, the sensations went from zero to one hundred as he slid his tongue up your folds, took a second to find your clit, and latched onto it, lapping at it like a dog while groaning like a senseless mutt.

Your hips bucked forward as you cried out, muscles constricting and tensing before relaxing as you squirmed beneath him. One hand deserted its post at your thigh and slipped down to your pussy, and he ran his middle and index finger through your slick, before surprisingly gently fingering at your hole, making sure that would fit.

Your hands fisted in his hair but allowed a moment of reprieve as he stopped for just a moment to breathe, nearly gasping for it. His eyes were half-lidded and looked hazy, like he was drunk, high, or both.

“Fuckin’ heaven.”

He muttered, throwing a lazy smile up at you as he leaned forward, licking a lewd stripe up your cunt while maintaining eye contact, slipping both of his fingers in right then. You groaned, eyes squeezing shut as your walls clenched around the sudden intrusion of his fingers, their calluses and thicker-than-normal girth a new experience for you.

“Woods,”

You gasped his name like a prayer when he dove back in, his tongue working you hungrily, like a man starved, disgustingly hot slurping sounds making their way into your ears as his pace with his fingers quickened, slamming in, out, in, out and rubbing against a certain sweet spot in a delicious way that made you dizzy.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you felt everything tense, an orgasm quickly approaching and threatening to overwhelm you completely. You were torn between tugging his face closer and pushing it away as your hips steadily rocked against him, basically grinding against his face at this point.

Either he noticed your tighter grip, the gasps and moans becoming quickly incomprehensible as you babbled pure nonsense, or the muscles in your thighs tensing up just a bit too much to be normal, because he intensified his ministrations, sucking on your clit and flicking his tongue against it, until that cord in your stomach finally snapped and you nearly screamed, only not because his other hand moved to your mouth, shoving a few fingers in, and you began mindlessly sucking on them, moaning around them.

Your vision went blurry and spotted for almost a moment, everything trembling as Woods slowly pulled his fingers out, sucking each off with a little ‘pop’ at the end, and standing back up.

He eased his other fingers out of your mouth, wrapping both arms around you, holding you against his chest as he rubbed your back, cradling your trembling body.

“I know, it’s a whole fuckin’ lot. Did so good for me, pretty girl.”

He murmured, one of his hands going to gently rub at your scalp, idly playing with your hair while waiting for you to come down from your high and resettle. He didn’t want to overwhelm you too much.

A few minutes passed, of him holding you close, muttering sweet nothings into your ear, with a honeyed tone with that delicious rasp and almost growl of his, before you finally came back down to Earth, dazed and horny as fuck.

“You alright?”

He asked, and you groaned.

“Never been better. You gonna show me what you’re packing?”

You gave a pointed glance at the very noticeable tent in his pants, and he laughed breathlessly, his hand going to tug down the thick canvas texture pants he was wearing, kicking them off until they joined the rest of both of your clothes on the floor. His old, ratty boxers that he’d probably had since the Vietnam War were next to go, his cock springing out in all of its ungroomed glory.

Precum was smeared and beaded on the tip, probably why there was a wet spot on his boxers. It was hairy, much like the rest of Frank, not that you really gave a shit. A good 5 inches, pretty damn thick too.

Jesus Christ.

“Enjoying the view?”

He asked with a cocky, knowing smirk, as you’d been having a staring contest with his dick. You rolled your eyes, reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock, watching as it twitched a bit in your hand, examining the way Woods’ expression shifted into pleasure when you squeezed just a bit, and teasingly just barely rubbed the tip.

“I think I’ll like the feel more.”

You said, listening to the low moan that slipped out from his lips, the steady rocking of his hips against your hand as it seemed to throb in your hands, having a pulse of its own.

“Oh, god—“

Woods wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he figured that he was being blessed by some god out there if he was experiencing this right now.

His breathing grew a bit heavier as his brows furrowed, thighs clenching and his knees threatening to give out from under him. God, he was so fucking close—and—

You stopped.

Completely took your hand off, and when he fully opened his eyes, you were looking at him with a smug little smirk that both made him want to strangle you and also made his dick stand prouder than ever.

“You just love torturing me—don’t you?”

He asked, trying to regulate his breathing as he wrapped a hand around himself, giving a few little pumps, and moving forward, rubbing his cock through your folds a few times to lubricate himself, before aligning with your entrance.

You spread your legs, wrapping them around his torso and squeezing to pull him in closer, trap him in, your hands going to hold him close as they wrapped around his upper back, nails threateningly close to scratching him.

“It’s hardly torture,”

You said in an amused tone, squeezing just a bit tighter as his hand went to rub at the fat of your hip.

“Relax, mama, don’t wanna hurt you.”

He muttered, moving torturously slowly as he pushed his bulbous tip in, finally getting it all the way in as he let you have a little moment to adjust as you clenched around him. His thumb went to go rub at your clit, small, slow circles around and around it, trying to get you to relax.

He succeeded, as the stimulation went right to your head, lips parting as you lowly moaned, leaning forward and leaning your head on his shoulders.

“Yeah, feels good, right? You like that, baby?”

He cooed in your ear, using your state to slip just a little bit more slowly in, and letting out a shaky breath as your body clenched around him, sucking him further into the sticky, wet, warmth of you.

He began rocking his hips slowly out, then right back in, until eventually he could slide nearly all the way in. Finally, after what felt like hours, he bottomed out and let out a shuddering breath that almost sounded like a whine.

“So fuckin’ tight, gonna squeeze my dick right off, baby—“

He mumbled, letting his finger on your clit speed up just a little bit while beginning with slow, languid thrusts while he groaned right into your ear, slowly speeding up until his arm was holding you tightly to him purely so you didn’t move around too much or get friction burns.

The initial stretch hadn’t been terrible, but now, with his pace picking up until he was pounding into you like a rabbit, rubbing right up against every little sweet spot buried in you that you hadn’t even known you’d had.

Your puffy cliff was practically being rubbed raw, overstimulation building as your mind tried processing and failed, too overwhelmed in a good way as you couldn’t think of a single fucking thing.

“Frank—“

His name, you could cry out that much. Your nails dug into the tanned and freckled skin of his back, scratching long red marks up and down, something he’d definitely feel later.

“Yeah? What is it, baby?”

You were jolted back and forth due to the impact of his hips and yours. The whines increasing in pitch and the moans were about the only thing you could get out between hiccups, your back arching in ecstasy, hips jerking forward in an attempt to push him deeper.

“‘S too much,”

You whined, and he gave a little shake of his head.

“No, you can take it, doing so well. Being so nice and pretty, jus’ needed a little bit of dick, didn’t you?”

He mumbled, pushing forward in a particularly hard thrust and watching the little bulge that appeared for a second, and leaning forward to press a hot kiss to your lips, not caring for a mess he made.

His thumb picked up the pace, rubbing faster and faster, while he continued to hammer into you, and the pleasure quickly became overwhelming, a few tears pricking at your eyes as you couldn’t do anything but cry out his name, moan, and take it. He was clearly getting close to a climax as well, judging by how his eyes squeezed shut, thighs clenching desperately.

“Jesus, fuck, oh my god,”

He rasped out, his head tilting back slightly as his rhythm slipped for a moment, desperately rutting into you like an animal. All the pleasure came to a singular point, and your orgasm crashed over you, unbearable and making something under your skin claw at you for freedom.

Your legs spasmed as you clenched around his dick like a vice, and he let out a little yelp, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head as he came on sight, stuffing you full of his cum while desperately shoving it deeper with his hips, groaning like a whore.

Your entire body felt weak and drained, limp as a fucking noodle, your vision still not completely back to normal after the intense aftershocks of your climax. Your heart was pounding, hips bucking at every little crumb of stimulation now.

Frank was breathing hard, leaning against the table, before regaining mental consciousness and slowly pulling out, cringing at how sensitive he was.

“You okay?”

A glint of worry underlied his assessing gaze as he looked you over, this time not a hint of lust, checking for any injuries to see if he accidentally had hurt you.

You felt like you’d just run a marathon. But taking a look at the documents on the floor, you remembered that you both still had a job to do, and an important one, too.

“Fine. Just..tired.”

Taking one look at you, he picked your clothes up off the ground and set them on the table.

The chill of the air nipped at your skin, though he didn’t seem as bothered by it, slowly helping your limp legs back into underwear, trying not to watch his own spend drip out of you, then pants.

He slipped your bra on, shirt soon to follow, eyes momentarily drifting to the various bruises and little indentations of teeth marks he’d left, before grabbing his own clothes and beginning to put them back on. A few minutes and he was clothed, before the both of you began picking the documents up, at this point just assuming they were the right ones and wanting to leave.

You realized quite a lot too late that the way it had landed on the floor, the button to relay a message had been pressed down the entire time.

Meaning Mason had overheard the entire thing.

You and Woods exchanged a look, before he started poorly suppressing a laugh. You sighed, pressing the button down.

“We’re finished in here. Got the information, we’ll be heading out now.”

Mason’s voice came back over after a minute.

“I’m well aware that you both finished. You’re clear, no traffic.”

Woods’ poorly restrained laugh became a poorly muffled laugh at that.

It was safe to say that once all of you got to exfil, simply a discreet van, it was a long ride home. Mason stared at the ground the entire time, while you took a nap on Woods’ shoulder, and Frank seemed awfully proud of himself, talking about anything that came to mind before passing out on Mason’s shoulder in the final stretch of the car ride.