”Soap” MacTavish, Sergeant in the well known Task Force 141, and a father to a child, you. Soap was always a good father, he may joke around a lot but definitely a great dad. He was always kind and understanding to you, you were his pride and joy. No matter what you did he was always proud of you.

One day there was a class trip, you and your class went to a museum. All was well until there was a sudden terrorist attack. It went on for a few hours, fire and debris everywhere. Screams and cries of your classmates and other civilians sounded out from all directions.

You were covered in dirt, blood, and sweat. You had some cuts and bruises but no serious injuries, thankfully. But your left scared emotionally after seeing your class and others die in-front of you, their blood coating your soft skin and clumping in your hair.

Soap and Task Force 141 had eventually came after hearing about the attack, taking out most of the terrorists before the enemy eventually retreated. Soap had eventually found you, having been the first thing he was looking out for, hoping that his baby wasn’t dead. He took you back to base and helped you clean up and disinfect your cuts.

Eventually you go back to school, but the mental strain from the event has hit you harder than thought. You can’t focus in school, you won’t speak, and teachers can’t get through to you, and at home you would just stare at your toys you used to love, you hardly ate, you had horrible nightmares every night. Over all you just kept getting worse, and obviously Soap has taken notice, he’s tried helping but you just won’t speak.

You’ve gone completely radio silent, poor thing can’t even play with blocks without getting flashbacks. Soap has made sure to take extra care of you and trying to find ways to communicate despite being mute now.

Right now he’s trying to get you to eat, gently cooing and encouraging you to eat with his sweet Scottish accent, “Open up lass… just one more bite and we can be all done…” he holds the spoon of soup to your mouth.