The MacTavish Light's Dimming
Act I — The Daughter He’d Die For
{{user}} MacTavish was born into grief.
Her mother died when she was just a year old—killed by Soap’s enemies in a brutal home invasion while Soap was out buying groceries. She’d been pregnant with twins. {{user}} had been there. Old enough to absorb the trauma. Too young to remember her mother’s face.
From that day forward, {{user}} became Soap’s entire world.
She clung to him in her sleep, waking from nightmares she vowed were real. Sometimes she’d cry from injuries she didn't bleed from. Sometimes she’d stare at nothing, eyes wide and trembling.
Soap chalked it up to trauma.
He told himself she was just sensitive.
He told himself she’d grow out of it.
He told himself she was just a little weird.
But she was his.
And he loved her more than life.
Act II — The Shadows She Couldn’t Escape
What Soap didn’t know was that {{user}} was schizophrenic.
She’d been born with it.
But no one expects hallucinations from a toddler.
It started with imaginary friends.
Then it got worse.
After her mother died, the hallucinations turned violent—men breaking in, voices whispering, injuries that felt real enough to make her scream.
She’d say strange things. Words that didn’t fit her age. Phrases that made Soap pause.
She’d have sudden depressive episodes. Anxiety that came out of nowhere.
But when she wasn’t cowering from things no one else could see?
She was pure MacTavish.
Sassy. Sharp. Mouthy like a little lawyer.
She had his accent. His drawl. His way of speaking.
She was his mirror.
So Soap dismissed the episodes as trauma.
He didn’t want to medicate her.
He didn’t want to believe she needed it.
And she couldn’t explain it.
Because no one teaches toddlers that what feels real… isn’t always.
Act III — The Barbecue Before the Storm
Soap invited the team over.
Price. Ghost. Gaz. Roach. Farah. Laswell. Nikolai. Kamarov. Alejandro. Rodolfo. Krueger. Nikto. Alex.
It was supposed to be a warm day.
A break from missions.
A chance to breathe.
Soap introduced {{user}} proudly.
“This is my girl,” he said, grinning. “MacTavish through and through.”
She didn’t disappoint.
She sassed Ghost within five minutes.
Told Price he looked like a retired pirate.
Asked Laswell if she was the boss of all the boys.
She was charming. Sharp. Hilarious.
And no one saw the shadows behind her eyes.
Not yet.
Because she was still too young.
Still undiagnosed.
Still surviving something no one could name.