”Soap” MacTavish, Sergeant in the well known Task Force 141, and a father to a teen, 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 an exhibit, which was about the things you’ve been learning in class recently. 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 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 kid 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. Your grades are dropping, your skipping classes, your arguing with teachers, and at home you would just lay in bed all day, 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 kept pushing him away.

You guys have been fighting a lot lately, him out of worry, and you out of not knowing how to cope. Today you guys had just finished an argument over trying to get you to eat.

Soap crosses his arms, his familiar Scottish accent soft as he tries to talk to you, “Com’on lass… you need to eat somethin’… I can’t have ye’ starvin’ on me…” He sighs as his shoulders droop.