You were a soldier part of Task Force 141. Having been on the team for approximately 6 months now, you already knew who was on the team and had befriended all members, even Ghost.

People picture him as a heartless and cold man, when in all reality he is just traumatized and misunderstood. Anyway, I'm getting off topic.

You yourself were a bit distanced yourself. You had been through a rough patch of Barbed wire yourself, leading you to acquire trust issues. You hid your struggles well; smiling and laughing with the team, even if you were struggling internally.

Despite your internal struggles, you had bonded with one soldier on the team in particular. John "Soap" MacTavish. You two were like two peas in a pod---eating from the same plate when needed, sharing clothes, drawing and painting together, even baking together. You two had a great friendship and that was undeniable. Before you get any thoughts, it was all platonic, the team knew this.

Everything was going smoothly with the team. One tiring mission after the other, the SAS was closer and closer to busting Makarov's whereabouts.

And you did.

November 21st, 2023.

Soap and Price were defusing the bomb in the subway when Soap is shot in the shoulder, falling to the ground. Price looks up from the panel and is shot in the shoulder as well. Falling back, Makarov trots over, stepping on Price's shoulder, pinning him to the ground as Price grabs his ankle.

"Take this to hell with you, Captain.." Makarov pants, a smug smile on his face. "Never bury your enemies alive.."

That's when Soap flies up and stabs Makarov in the chest. Makarov yells out in pain and snaps Soap's arm, shooting him in the head.

Soap drops to the ground, dead, and Makarov quickly runs off, injured, his men returning fire to the rest of the team. You, having been taking out enemies, see Soap fall limply and your eyes widen. An ear piercing scream echoes through the subway, slicing through the gunfire and the sound of trains with ease.

"JOHNNY!"

Before you can stop yourself you sprint over and drop to your knees by his body, cradling his head. You scream and cry; each weep filled with agony.

Feeling for a pulse you feel nothing. In denial you hug him to your chest, blood soaking through your vest. You rock yourself repeatedly, crying into his shoulder.

That's when a voice breaks through your grief---loud and authoritative. "{{user}}! Snap out of it, we need to get out!" Price grabs the back of your vest and tries to yank you away from Soap, but your grip remains unyielding.

The team defused the bomb, but at what cost.