After a couple of hours of sitting dead still on the bed, Price finally stood up on stiff legs. He felt completely hollow, like he was just a shell of flimsy paper, easily crumpled. He couldn't face the others, not yet. He needed to talk to someone first. One of the only people he felt who would understand, and not question his choice.

With a flick of a switch, he turned on the laptop and put the headphones on so no one would hear MacMillian's voice.

"You signed in?" The gruff Scottish accent he could never forget answered.

"Yes..." He replied, the simpliar accent to Soap's was what made his heart retch. Twisted up in knots. But then again, he had an idea. "How's the situation on Makarov?"

"Still alive. I'll take it that the mission went south?" MacMillian assumed.

He took a breath. "There's a clocktower in Hereford where the names of the dead are inscribed." He'd decided he would bring this up. "We try to honor their deeds even as their faces fade from our memory. Those memories are all that's left, when the bastards have taken everything else."

"What happened?" Mac asked.

"He killed Soap." By now, tears were coming back. He had only contacted now because he thought he had brought himself together, but he was still fragile as glass in reality. "He's gone, Mac."

"What do you need from me, son?"

"A location." Price answered. "Our Russian says Makarov used to cache weapons at an old castle near Prague. He's got nothing more solid than that."

"Can you trust him?"

"What choice do I have?" Not one. "He's got his own reasons for wanting Makarov dead. Place ring any bells?"

"Aye." MacMillian responded. "We ran drones over a suspect castle back in Zakhaev's day, but we never got wind of our targets visiting the area."

"What am I up against?" Price questioned hollowly.

"The place is a fortress. Only one way in or out –" Mac told him. "-unless you've learnt to fly." Then images were coming up on the screen. "Security office on the far side of the compound, and a command center north of that. Both were heavily guarded. If Makarov's there, he'll be in that control room." As he said this, Price started typing down a list before sending it.

"What's this you're sending me?" Mac asked.

"Equipment list." Price answered simply.

"That's a lot of hardware, John." He said. "What'd you plan on doin'?"

"What you taught me to do..." He responded. "Kill 'em all."

A long moment of silence.

Then MacMillian sighed on the other end. "I know you're upset, John. But don't let your greif get the better of ya."

"I won't..."

"Then I'd better hear from ya again."

"You will." Price said, as solidly as he could. "I'll make sure of it." Then he got off the computer. About to leave the room before looking at the photos on the wall. "I'll make sure of it..."

When he got out of the room, he walked down the hall to find that bastard Yuri talking to another Russian. Price ignored him, brushing past before he can to the main room, where Nikolai was staring down with his chin resting in his palm. When he entered the room, the Russian pilot looked up.

"I was starting to worry that you might have killed yourself, my friend." Nikolai sighed.

Price didn't respond. He just changed the subject. "Thing about Soap? Or Kamarov?"

Nikolai shrugged, dark circles made his exhaustion visible. "I do not know... both I guess. I cannot believe they are gone."

"They still live on in our memories." Then he looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to see Soap walk into the room. He had to shake that from his mind right away. He's dead. I just need to accept it.

Gray eyes staring, Nikolai asked, "Do you also have that feeling?"

"What feeling?" Price questioned back.

"That, somehow, Soap is still here." The Russian answered. "Like he is standing right in this very room with us."

Price shook his head. Although he agreed, he didn't want to admit that he was still holding onto the loss. "No. All I feel is the sense of loosing an arm or something." It wasn't a total lie.

"Although I cannot say I do not agree, I can say that I feel as though he is still beside us."

Price sighed. "Maybe, but that still doesn't change anything." He then pulled as best a smile he could, "I've got an idea on where Makarov is, we can kill the bastard."

"I hate to correct you, but I only fly planes." Nikolai pointed out. "If you need help, then bring Yuri with you."

"But he-!"

"I know you do not trust him." Nikolai told him sharply. "But if this mission is dangerous, I do not need you dead as well. I only do this because I would rather not loose another friend."

"Fine... I'll bring the bug along. But if he falls behind or slips up, don't expect him to come back." Price swore.

"I did not think so."

It was probably very early morning, or extremely late at night, when Price gave up his feeble attempts to get some sleep. Soap still stuck in his mind. The sight of his death made him shiver. Then he saw something, a glimmer of crimson light in the corner of his eye, he wiped his head towards it to see just the wall, covered in taped up photos of him and the now dead friend.

"Just my bloody imagination..." Price grumbled, laying his head back. But it was only a few minutes later, when he had let his guard down, that he saw it again. That faint glimmer of light just in the far corner of his eye, and when he looked towards it, it was gone.

"Ah shite..."

Now Price was sitting up in his bed, looking in the dark gloom of his room for the source of the voice. Even he reconized it as Soap's! He knew it! But he was dead right? How could he be hearing his voice? "Soap?"

"Just leave me, Price..." The familiar voice spoke out of the gloom.

He blinked hazily, now that he remembered him saying. Even still, he didn't respond. He just got up, walking straight towards the door before he opened it. Outside, he saw a shadowy red figure take shape. He barely had time to reconize it before he found Soap charging in his direction, screaming! With nowhere else to turn, he rushed back into his room and shut the door. But it didn't help him. It only kept him awake all night.

In the morning, he was going to get ready when Nikolai stopped him. "I think you need rest."

"I'm fine." He uttered. In reality, he wasn't. The shadow figure of Soap running at him and screaming bloody murder still stuck in his mind. "Besides, I need to get this mission done."

"Then do it tomorrow, after you have gotten some rest." Nikolai reasoned.

"Alright. Fine. If you're so worried..." In other words, 'I'm too exhausted to argue, so I'll stay...'

With that, Price stayed with the others that day.