Aniahs Rewyas: Making my move from poetry to fiction. We'll see how long this lasts…
Side Note: This story is loosely based around the events of MW3, however the majority of the story does take place in an AU.
Disclaimer: I own nothing more than the plot and the OC's (original characters). All else belong to the prospective owners.
Absolution
Chapter I: Drunken and Driven
The moonlit hallway filled the darkness of a desolate apartment as the scuffling of stumbling footsteps came to a temporary cease. Though the small European flat was soundless, the repetitive beats of club life still resonated in Soap's head. Images of swaying skirts, spilt drinks and tight clothing flashed in his mind. Scuffling out of his shoes, Soap sighed as he entered his bedroom. A poorly furnished room with a covered box serving as a lamp post and a worn out air mattress welcomed him in his slightly drunken state. Plopping onto the bed, his head sunk into his pillow; his eyes opening slowly. Azure colored eyes so bright against their red tinted retina. The smell of alcohol stained on his shirt filled his nostrils as he was again reminded of his evening's routine events; a usual trip to a night club with in search of the same type of woman who shared the same type of interest.
It had been just over a year since Makarov's disappearance. Soap, Price, Yuri and all other members of the SAS had been cleared of all their offenses and were given one year of leave to decide what to do with the normalcy of civilian life with very special thanks from a recently saved President Vorshevsky and his daughter.
Yuri had returned to Russia to get back into touch with family. Kamarov and Nikolai had followed suite a few days after, however Kamorov would soon find he was in for a huge surprise by the latter of the Russians who had a habit of being quite promiscuous with the ladies.
And as for Price. Well, Price had his typical paranoia to deal with. Soap could still hear his mentor's voice in his head.
'Makarov is still breathing which means he's still a bleeding thorn in my side.'
That meant Price was likely staying at an undisclosed location, for an indecisive amount of time. But, at least he wrote letters to Soap and the others.
'Always so old fashioned, eh Price.'
Soap scoffed to himself before feeling his stomach suddenly churn. The threat of throwing up was steadily rising to his throat. Making a rush to the bathroom, Soap bit his tongue in hopes of stalling the burning alcohol from squirting from his teeth.
He made it to the toilet. Just, barely. The sound of flushing water had become a comfort to him as he pressed his weight onto the lou, and propped himself onto the sink. The cold water couldn't come out soon enough for the Scotsman. His hands rushed under the water to rinse out his mouth and then cool his face. After several moments of repeating this action, he turned off the faucet and inhaled deeply. Looking at himself in the mirror, he felt repulsion set in. This routine needed to stop. He needed to get back to work. He needed another mission.
Wandering out of the bathroom and into the cool darkness that was his room, Soap again plopped his weight on the bed and turned to his side. The sun was rising now, which meant that his bedtime was near.
"Good sleep will do me swell." He muttered before sliding his hand beneath his pillow.
The pounding on a door, awoke him with a start. As it had only seemed like a few hours had passed since he last slept. After lying there for a moment, Soap was welcomed by a bright, sun shined filled room with birds chirping and happiness ensuing.
Happiness was hard to take when a certain Scotsman was hung over.
The pounding on the door, became more persistent. Less patient.
"Bollocks! Who could be here at this hour?" Soap stumbled out of bed in a disarray of frustration and disorientation.
Staggering down the stairs while tripping over his feet, he very loudly came to a halt just in time for his hand to reach the door knob. Swinging it open wildly, the Scotsman's fully prepared icy glare was quickly melted by the even harder stare of Captain Price.
"What the bloody Hell is your problem, son?"
"Oh, hi Price." How quickly Soap's tone changed.
"What's with all that scruffle on your face?"
"Oh, uh, why don't you come in?" Soap offered his hand inside.
The older English gentleman obliged soundlessly with a befuddled look on his face.
Limited furniture decorated the flat with a large television and large speakers on one end of the room and a small futon on the other. There wasn't even a coffee table for tea.
"I don't use it for much." Feeling slightly abashed, Soap offered his mentor something to drink.
"No, thanks though, lad."
An awkward pause ensued between the two soldiers.
"What brings you to the neighborhood?"
Soap motioned for Price to sit with him on the futon as he noticed Price's facial expression fade from confused to serious.
"We've got a trace on Makorov's location and where we believe he'll strike next."
"Where?" The Scotsman sharpened his eyes.
"He's returned to his homeland and has started a newer, deadly force than last time. Rumor has it that he's been training children for the last several years. Children as young as ten are being sent to this training facility in the middle of nowhere Russia. "
"How did we miss that?"
"None of them have been surviving until now. We have a connection with three members who have worked in a separate organization with him and have been rumored to have been in existence since Chernobyl."
"And this organization is…supplying the children."
"In a simple sense, yes. However," Price paused. "I'm not too convinced that these members are as trustworthy as they seem."
"What do you mean?"
"Two of the members we're to meet with used to work directly for Makorov and still have a myriad of ties to the bastard himself."
"What is the name of this organization?"
"UNSF. The United Nations Secretive Forces."
"Why do I know that name?" Soap cocked his head to the side.
"Because every government and military in the world has been hunting for their heads for the past twenty five years. Many believe that this organization is personally responsible for Chernobyl and many other terroristic happenings."
"When do we leave?" Soap upon seeing Price stand, matched his level.
"In five minutes."
"I'll be ready."
