Soap looked up from his journal to survey the room he and Yuri were holed up in for the past several hours. The gray skies over Prague were beginning to lighten into a new day, washing out his surroundings and making him feel as if he was looking at a black and white photograph. Yuri was seated on the floor, back to the wall and dozing. Soap couldn t sleep. He thought perhaps if he could note down the logistics of this latest mission to finally rid the world of Makarov, his racing thoughts would slow down. They didn t.
Soap sighed, pocketed his journal and stretched to his feet. He paced diagonally across the room until he stood in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary. Being in a church, it was not surprising to find holy objects in all its rooms - even in this small office. He wearily ran a hand over his scruffy mohawk and gazed at the statue. He suddenly remembered his long ago schoolboy days in Elgin, where he and his mates sat bored in the church pews while the priest droned on and on saying Mass. He used to gaze up at the intricate stained glass above and try to copy the designs in the margins of his prayerbook. He also spent much of his time gazing at the statue of the Blessed Mother. Her raven dark hair, blue eyes and the gently sad expression on her face made him wonder if this was what his real mother looked like. She had died when he was a baby and he had no other kin to claim him. For most of his childhood he used to stare at the statue and take comfort in it, believing in his loneliest hours that this was his mother watching over him. Life as an orphan grown to soldier forced Soap to survive by his wits and strength. As he grew up and saw more of the world and the general cynicism of humanity, those prayers and practice of religion were long forgot.
Many years later, in the gloom of dawn and in this chilly little church office, Soap found himself finding comfort once again with the same motherly image that had comforted him so many times as a boy. His racing thoughts finally slowed down, and taking a knee at the foot of the statue, he reverently placed one calloused hand on the Blessed Mother s foot. Bowing his head, he recalled the same prayer that had been long buried in the recesses of his memory.
"...Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners
now and at the hour of our death, Amen."
The last lines of the prayer gave him pause. He raised his eyes inquiringly at the statue. "Whose death are you praying over at this hour?" he mused. Soap closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He stayed in this position for several minutes, clearing his head of all thought, trying to infuse a little inner peace. Slowly he blinked his eyes open, and gazed up at that sad, serene face. Soap bent his head to place a kiss on the statue s foot before straightening up and purposefully crossing the room to the sleeping Yuri.
"Yuri, get up. It s time."