Chapter Text
Roach's heart hammered in his chest as he sprinted out of the building. The smoke from grenades, C4's, and tear gas assaulted his senses. His eyes scorched with tears as he forced his legs to continue thrusting forwards. The cottage was flooded with Makarov's men, swimming in waves as they attempted to terminate the Task Force. Ghost and Ozone went ahead of Roach, clearing out as many of Makarov's men as they could for Roach to pass safely.
Roach sprinted through the fogged fields and hills, ducking behind thin trees as yet another wave of Makarov's men flooded through. He wiped the water droplets from his goggles, persevering through as he shot at the men. Ghost was right beside him, covering as much as he could. Roach grunted as a bullet grazed his helmet, lunging behind a rock as he reloaded his weapon. "All targets destroyed." One of the men shouted into his comms. Roach swallowed thickly. That meant that Archer and Toad were gone. Roach bit his tongue, reappearing from behind the rock as he shot down as many men as he could. Shepherd's extraction helicopter was close, just down the hill.
"They're bracketing our position with mortars, be careful, but don't stop moving!" Ghost barked at Roach. Just then, one landed dangerously close to the two of them. Roach planted his feet into the dirt, throwing an arm over his head as the explosive shell detonated into a cloud of fire, smoke, and ash. He tucked himself behind a tree, fighting the urge to cough. The balaclava he wore wasn't helping his struggle to breathe. "Roach! I got you covered! Make a run for it!" Ghost shouted once more. Roach paused for a moment. He could hear the underlying tone of hope in his voice. They were close, so close. The helicopter was right there. Soon, they'd be inside, flying out of the hellhole.
Roach lunged forward, shooting blindly at every man as he rushed to the helicopter, bullets and bombs zinging past him. Soon, the trees disappeared. It was just one big hill. He had done it. They had done it. He rushed forward, sprinting to the helicopter. He had gotten distracted. He was so lost in his desire to leave that he didn't hear or notice the missile flying towards him. It landed right in front of him, sending him flying back. He plummeted to the ground, his vision immediately going back like a light switch. Everything was silent for a moment. Everything was dark. Everything was nothing.
And then a horrible ringing noise started assaulting his ears.
From the pinpoint in the center of his vision, the blackness began to fade. Although it was blurry, he could see the blob-like form of Ghost hovering over him. He blinked, once, twice. He could hear Ghost yelling to him as he dragged Roach across the ground. He groaned. His head throbbed, his chest hurt, his eyes burned, his legs felt weak, his senses overwhelmed.
But he was a soldier.
He cocked his gun, looking into his sights as he began shooting at the wave of soldiers emerging from the treelines. Bullets were flying past him, mortars exploding around him, helicopters swaying above him. It was overwhelming. It was so overwhelming. His vision began to fray again. His grip on his gun loosening. His eyes rolled back as he fell into the ditch of unconsciousness.
“Come on, Roach! Get up!”
Ghost’s voice brought Roach back from unconsciousness. He could hear the noise of the radios and the distant bullets, but all he could see was the sight of Ghost hovering over him. Ghost hauled him up, wrapping Roach’s arm around his neck as he practically dragged him towards the extract helicopter. “C’mon! Get up! Get up! We’re almost there!” Ghost shouted. Roach panted as he limped beside Ghost, it was over. They had finally won.
“Do you have the DSM?” Shepherd questioned them as he walked out of the helicopter. Dust and smoke completely flooding their surroundings. Ghost stood beside Roach, exhausted but relieved. Against all odds, they’d made it. More importantly, Roach had made it. Ghost glanced at Roach, the slightest tilt of his head speaking for him. ‘You did it’ ‘I’m proud of you’. He turned to Shepherd. “We got it, Sir!” Ghost answered. Shepherd nodded approvingly at the response, placing a firm hand on Roach’s shoulder.
“Good.”
For a brief moment, everything felt normal.
Mission accomplished.
“That’s one less loose end.”
Ghost’s stomach dropped and his head snapped towards Shepherd.
The words barely had time to register before Shepherd’s pistol cleared its holster. And the gun was fired. The crack echoed across the landing zone.
Roach’s body snapped back as the bullet struck him. It all happened so fast that he barely even registered the pain. For a second, he looked more confused than hurt. It was as if his mind couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.
Then he fell.
Ghost’s eyes widened in horror. “NO!!” He instinctively reached for Roach, but his fingers curled around empty air. Roach hit the ground hard, blood staining his uniform. Ghost’s heartbeat thundered in his ears as he whipped out his rifle as fast as he could, but Shepherd was faster. A second shot rang out. The rifle slipped from Ghost’s numb fingers as he collapsed beside Roach, his body striking the dirt.
A single bullet to the neck ended the Brits' life. Shepherd didn't even spare him a glance. Not at the soldier who had trusted him. He didn’t even look at Roach, the soldier who had followed every order. Shepherd’s gaze was glued to the DSM in Roach’s trembling hands. That was when it finally dawned on Roach. That was all they were to him. Tools, assets..
Loose Ends.
Shepherd holstered his pistol and crouched beside Roach’s fallen form. Without hesitation, he tore the DSM from Roach’s trembling grasp. Roach let out a weak, ragged breath. He slowly lifted his hand, firmly grabbing Shepherd's wrist. Shepherd paused at the sudden touch, and for a moment, neither moved. They stared into one another's eyes.
Roach’s eyes filled with disbelief.
The heart shattering realization that someone he trusted had decided that his life was expendable.
Shepherd's eyes filled with revulsion.
The fact that Roach’s refusal to die quickly was inconveniencing him.
He snatched his wrist away from Roach’s grip, turning around and walking back off. Two men grabbed Roach without a word. One lifted him by his feet and the other lifted him up from his armpits. The second they lifted him, a shock of agony zipped through his battered body. They swung him into a ditch. Roach’s body was immediately racketed with pain as the pain from his wounds intensified with the contact of being thrown harshly. He was barely able to acknowledge his own pain when they threw Ghost into the ditch as well. The world seemed to slow down. Ghost’s body tumbled down the mound and landed heavily beside him. The unshakeable, prepared, and controlled Lieutenant lay motionless in the dirt. He was still, silent, and gone.
Roach’s eyes widened. Through the tinted lenses of Ghost’s sunglasses, he could make out the vacant stare beneath them. A dark void formed in his chest. He had failed. Not only the mission, but Ghost, Soap, Price… He had failed everyone. The realization hit him more effectively than any other bullet could.
A hitch formed in his throat as he stared at Ghost. Not just a fellow soldier, but the love of his life. His Ghost.. His Simon was dead. The man who became the center of his world. The man he’d never be able to hold again. He felt the bile rise in his throat as blood continued to gush from the hole in Ghost’s neck, spilling all over ground with a sickening squelching noise. A man returned carrying a fuel canister.
He knew what was happening.
He stared at the men for a moment before turning his gaze back to Ghost. Ignoring the protests of his injuries, he shifted closer to Ghot. Roach lifted his hand, using the last of his strength to reach out to Ghost. His gloved hand—which was torn open from the sheer temperature of gun overuse—sliding underneath Ghost’s limp hand and curling around it. Even with Ghost’s glove his hand still felt cold. He couldn’t believe it. The finality of it hit him harder than the bullet did. Ghost was dead. He was actually dead.
“Simon..” He gasped out. His eyes began to water. “I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry..” He coughed, his body beginning to shake. The man poured the gasoline over their bodies. Shepherd walked up calmly to the ditch, staring down at both of them as if they were mere mice caught in a mousetrap. Roach stared at him. How could he be so calm? So unbothered? How long had he been planning this? Shepherd tossed his cigar onto Roach’s body as if he was less than an ashtray. The gesture was almost worse than the betrayal itself. It was indifference. As if their lives had already been forgotten.
He immediately burst into flames. The fire sizzled through his gear, blistering and devouring his skin. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. He was limp, unable to escape the predicament. The ash of the flames diving deep into his throat, making the very thought of breathing unbearable pain. He glanced at Ghost, a sad, exhausted smile touched his lips before he finally let go. “I don’t mind burning with you..” He groaned one last time until he had no strength to hold on at all.
***
“Lt?”
Ghost stirred, looking up at the sergeant through his mask. “MacTavish.” Soap grinned, tilting his head. “Thought I lost ya, sir. Ye were awa’ tae the land o’ Nod.” He chuckled, that Scottish accent of his thicker than usual. Ghost narrowed his eyes, glaring at him. “Don’t get your hopes up.” He stood up, shifting his feet. “What’s the problem?” Soap sighed. “Shepherd wants Price to come with him to that recruit place.” “Recruit place?” “Shepherd is claiming that we’re gonna need more men tae defeat Makarov.” Ghost narrowed his eyes. That was the stupidest thing he’d heard all week. Shepherd really thought that low of them? “The last thing we need is some wet towel recruit messing every mission up.” Ghost grunted, picking up his knife and sliding it through his belt. Soap nodded. “Aye, I agree. But General’s orders. It’s not like Price has tae choose a lad anyway, just gotta attend. He does want us tae com’ tho.” Ghost groaned internally at that. He’d rather not be stuck in a dirt base with a bunch of sweaty men in gear who probably haven't showered in weeks.
He hadn’t either, but that was besides the point.
“What time?” “0830, don’t be late, or Shepherd’s gonna have all of our arses.” Ghost couldn’t care less about Shepherd’s wants. A new recruit was too dangerous, especially so suddenly dealing with a man like Makarov. It was such a perfect opening for Makarov that they might as well flop down on their backs. Their focus would be all on the recruit, especially if it’s some inexperienced bum who tries to charm their way up the ranks. Price wouldn’t recruit a man—or woman—like that anyway, but the thought still made him mildly annoyed.
- - -
Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and Price walked through the gates of the base. Many other soldiers were there, mainly privates. They certainly couldn’t deal a private in the middle of an oncoming war. “Reminds me of my good ‘ol private days.” Soap grinned, watching as a group of privates played basketball. Gaz smiled lightly, nodding respectfully to a few fellow sergeants. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a normal military base. I forget how different it is from the S.A.S,” Gaz admitted, shifting his hat to protect his eyes from the harsh sun. “I remember when I was just a cop.” Ghost didn’t join in the remembrance talk. He’d rather spend time hunting down Makarov than babysit a bunch of Seals.
“This way, gentlemen.” Shepherd gruffed as he led them towards The Pit. They followed him onto the top bridge and took their seats. They could see the entire course from here, including the line of men waiting for their course run. Soap chuckled, “Man.. I remember being down there-” “Save us your ancient days, MacTavish. We’re here to observe.” Ghost silenced him quickly. Soap scoffed, leaning back and grumbling about how Ghost was older. But he too fell silent once the first contestant went.
The contestants weren’t horrible. Not exactly good either. The best one so far—Joseph Allen— had a time of 54.8 seconds with 22/24 and 2/11. Okay, it was pretty disappointing. Ghost couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a waste of precious time this was. He was quickly snapped out of his thoughts when a name was called out.
“Next up, Gary Sanderson!”
He paused, his head snapping up to the contender. That name sounded familiar.. Very familiar. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly feeling as if someone had dropped a rock on top of his chest. Something was different about him. He didn’t have a death grip on his weapon, he wasn’t shifting constantly, he wasn’t glancing up at them.. He was unique. Ghost sat up straighter, he caught Soap and Price doing the same thing from his peripheral vision, they must’ve felt it too. He wasn’t using the standard guns they gave them either. He actually switched his guns from a M4A1 and an USP .45 to a MP5k and a Mini-Uzi. This guy clearly knew his guns and skills. “He can’t be a private.” Gaz muttered. Price shook his head. “Too knowing, maybe he just got promoted to sergeant.”
The door swung open and Gary flew inside. He easily shot down the three targets with the Mini-Uzi before efficiently switching to the MP5k, dropping the enemy target with controlled bursts. Not a single bullet even nudged the civilian targets. He ran into the building, making quick work of the targets there before lunging up the stairs. He struck the moving target with his knife before the corporal could even give the command. Without breaking his stride, he switched back to the Mini-Uzi and made quick work of the three targets on the upper platform before leaping from the building. He stumbled slightly in his landing, but made up for it as he efficiently hit each remaining target and sprinting towards the finish line.
24.35 seconds. 24/24. 0/11.
For a moment, no one spoke.
It was the best they’ve seen all day. The corporal himself seemed shocked, but that immediately turned into a grin. “Hell yeah! You owned that course!” He walked up to Gary and roughly slapped him on the back. “You can go on upstairs with the rest of the group, you all will be evaluated soon.” The corporal laid back against the wall as Roach exited and made his ascent upstairs. Gaz shook his head slowly. “Bloody hell.. He did a mighty fine job.” Price nodded at that. “He did..” Ghost noticed the way Price tilted his head. Looks like they found their new member.
“We should recruit Allen.”
Everyone turned to Shepherd, raising an eyebrow. “General, you can’t be serious. Sanderson got 24 out of 24 in 24 seconds! You can’t just ignore that.” Price stood up, not liking the idea of Shepherd having the final say, especially in one he deemed wrong. “Yes, but he’s clumsy. The man tripped over his own feet multiple times. He’ll end up as just another loose end.” Ghost swallowed thickly. He didn’t like the sound of that, nor how he said it. Price shifted. “Well, I believe that Sanderson will make a fine soldier for the Task Force.” They both stared at one another. It was a clear challenge. “Guess we’ll be doing both.” Shepherd grunted, narrowing his eyes as he strutted past Price.
Price shifted involuntarily, fighting the urge to knock Shepherd's teeth down his throat. He turned to Ghost, Gaz, and Soap. “Well, looks like you’ll be getting two new members tomorrow. We have to fill out some paperwork, and Shepherd’s going to take them out for a test run in the field. For now, just clean up your rooms and have a day to yourselves, it might just be the last one for a while.” Price nodded at them before leading them back to the trucks.
- - -
Ghost remained still on his bed. His room was already mostly tidy except for a couple of socks lying on the ground and some ruffled sheets from restless turning. He felt off. Felt as though something was off. The sensation wasn’t new, it had followed him ever since he joined the military. Some days it was barely noticeable, some days it roared to life. That name, Gary Sanderson, it sounded so familiar. He couldn’t connect a face to the name, not even to a memory, but somehow, he felt connected to it. Each time he heard the name, his chest tightened.
He felt as if he should know it, like he had known it. He grunted as he stared up at the ceiling, running a calloused hand down his face. He had always felt amiss, especially before he joined the military. It was a feeling that something important was missing without knowing what it was. Then he met Shepherd, and surprisingly, a piece of him returned back into the soul. It didn’t repair him fully, but enough. And then he met Price, and then Soap. With each bond formed, another piece seemed to click back into place. The emptiness shrank, and he had believed that it was over now, that he was complete.
But he was wrong. If he was complete, he wouldn’t be feeling this way. He wouldn’t wake up with the slight sensation that something—or someone—was missing. Something important. An absence that he couldn’t explain. Gary Sanderson. The name rang in his head again. He turned to his side before closing his eyes. A part of him wanted answers. A part of him wanted to figure out why the stranger's name felt more familiar than his own reflection. But another part of him thought otherwise.
He was scared to be full.
Ghost had spent his entire life learning how to survive as a broken spirit of himself. He had grown accustomed to the void, he had adapted to being broken, he accepted the coldness of his heart. The thought of being whole again frightened him more than how he was now. And for the first time in years, he was afraid. He wasn’t afraid of what was missing, he was afraid of what would happen when he found it.