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reds-skull · 17 days ago

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Bringer of Demise - Chapter 5

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This chapter ended up a little short, but I wanted the cliffhanger to be as horrible as I used to make them in part 1 haha. I like how this one turned out, had to rewrite a large chunk of it, but it was the right decision I think

It's called "Walking Corpse"

Soap runs through the tunnels, sliding around a corner he almost misses. A few soldiers have to jump to the side to avoid collision with him, and he shouts an apology behind him.

He rounds another turn when he slams into a large body. Luckily for the both of them, the man is strong enough to keep them on their feet, only letting out a huff as he holds Soap’s biceps.

“Please tell me you’re not running away because you got into trouble, Johnny. Wouldn’t look good in front of our hosts.”

“Ghost!” Soap smiles up at the masked man, “Price told me to get teh the meeting room.”

Ghost lets him go, nodding towards the hallway, “I know, told me to get you, make sure you ‘don’t get lost’.” he keeps a hand on Soap’s back, thumb caressing him.

Soap picks up on his silent question, “Ah’m fine, LT. Got cleared for the field.”

“Hm.” Ghost drops his hand, his eyes crescent-like, “let’s get to debrief before Price has our heads.”

Soap laughs, “aye.”

Their team was dropped off several hundred feet away from their target, which was the building that was observed to house the high ranking fighters of Al-Mudahiyn on the recon mission. Soap lays under a cluster of bushes, wiping his forehead as sweat already drips down it.

It turns out, the militia is on high alert, expecting an attack - but not by the ULF. The Russians also have their eyes on this facility, and they hope it means the revenants Graves kidnapped are still there.

As they wait for their signal, Soap runs the memory of the briefing through his head again.

Farah leans over to drag the blueprints to the center of the table. “Al-Mudahiyn have a few disadvantages, mainly their lack of manpower in this area. Their focus has shifted further north in the last few months, in an attempt to keep their territories.”

“So we just overwhelm them? We got enough revenants for it.” Gaz muses out loud.

Farah hums, “that’s one possible plan of attack. But that is not the optimal one.”

The Commander did say the ULF doesn’t make a habit of attacking Al-Mudahiyn…

“Diversion.” Price says, cutting off Soap’s thoughts. “The facility spreads over a large area. By the time most fighters will get to one side…”

“The other will be completely exposed.”

The air besides him shifts, and he hears the branches around him crunch. Alex’s voice whispers from his left, “think I’m set to infiltrate.”

Commander Karim takes her eyes away from her scope, “don’t let them see you, Keller.” she looks at Alex’s general direction with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am.” The dirt beneath Alex’s boots shifts, and it’s the only way Soap can tell when he walks away, towards the building they suspect has the CCTV control room. Keller’s role is two-fold; he will keep track of the hostiles’ location once the diversion begins, and signal Soap and Farah when their way in is clear, as well as scour the cameras for possible imprisoned revenants.

He temps down the frustration he felt since the debrief. You’d think he’d be the best candidate for a distraction, along with Ghost, but they have to keep following Novikov’s bleedin’ instructions, because “the higher-ups said so”.

Not for the first time, Soap wonders if the brass are really the ones that should be in charge of decisions like these. He didn’t care much in the past, as it only affected him, but now…

Price said he informed Laswell of their suspicions, and she’s working on investigating potential connections between Novikov and Makarov, but the Captain himself doesn’t think the Doctor is the traitor yet.

Soap may have used some… less than tasteful words to curse him out in his mind. Price explained that he knew Novikov for a while, and the man never showed signs of betrayal.

What he managed to gather from his Captain is that because of Shepherd’s disappearance, a few people moved up the ladder, and in his eyes it’s possible one of them could have switched sides. Didn’t do much to convince Soap, but he supposes he understands Price’s point of view.

Either way, that left Soap here, on the infil team with Commander Karim. Her reasoning to choose him out of all the revenants is his ability to heal from gunshots, which compliments her immunity to bullets nicely.

Ghost absolutely hated the idea, he could tell from his stiff, drawn-back shoulders and clenched jaw, but he said nothing, beside offering himself as the distraction.

While Limbo isn’t quite as loud as explosions, seeing what looks like a black hole approach your base rapidly, garnished with the screams of the damned, would be a cause to raise an alarm. Not to mention Price’s powers, which would probably make it feel even more disturbing.

Watching Limbo open now, the void tearing through the night’s sky like a knife, Soap is reminded that Ghost’s powers are fucking terrifying to most. Especially when it’s likely Al-Mudahiyn’s fighters have never seen anything like this.

The floodlights turn on, the facility waking up, fighters running towards the front gates. Soap’s radio crackles, Alex’s voice coming through.

“Kilo Actual, Bravo 7-1, you’re clear for infil.”

Commander Karim rises to her feet, face set with determination, “copy. On the move.”

This place gives him the creeps. Old, crumbling walls, the rebar foundation exposed every few steps, windowless corridors lined with cells, tiled floor covered in stains Soap is hoping are not dried blood.

He follows Commander Karim, the building desolate. She takes a turn unexpectedly, to a room that wasn’t marked as a point of interest.

Farah stops in the entrance, staring at the single chair, a table with various gruesome tools standing beside it. Everything is covered in dark, brown-red blood.

“Commander?” Soap asks, Farah’s expression conflicted. She takes a sharp breath and walks out.

“There were prisoners here recently.” she says, “they must’ve been moved before we arrived.”

“You think they were torturing the revenants?”

They step out into a courtyard of sorts, surrounded by bleak concrete blocks, “our revenants, Russian soldiers…” Karim trails off.

“Kilo.” Alex calls through comms, “found something.”

Farah stops in her tracks, “talk to me, Alex.”

“Rest of the facility has been cleared out from what I can tell, they’re all freaking out about Limbo, but there’s one place the guards have stayed put in.” he types something on a keyboard, “it was marked as warehouse B on the blueprints, take a left in-”

“I know where it is.” Farah stops him, “we’ll check it, keep looking, Echo.”

“Copy that.”

Soap rushes to follow Karim when she starts walking to the warehouse, Her rifle at the ready, “ye’ve been here before, haven’t you?” he asks.

“I have.” Soap doesn’t think she means she’s been here on a mission, with the way her mouth twists into a snarl.

As soon as they enter the warehouse, they hear voices and drop to a crouch. The Commander signs for Soap to keep quiet, and they slowly creep closer towards a large door. From this close, he can gather whoever’s on the other side is speaking Arabic.

“I know that voice…” Farah mutters. She waits another moment to verify that there are no other people talking, and with a careful push, opens the door enough for them to peek through.

What lies on the other side is sickening. In a large room, surrounded by unmoving bodies and chained to a wall, is a woman. Around her are scorch-marks, the moaning and grunting confirming that some of the burnt people are still alive to feel the pain.

The woman is the only one uninjured, and Soap grits his teeth. She must be the revenant, that Shepherd and Graves tried to make revenant-killers of. Al-Mudahiyn have taken the mantle on that project, after Graves’ death.

“Sergeant. Calm yourself.” Karim says, pointedly looking at his growing flames. Soap grimaces and forces them down. He wasn’t made for covert operations. “Alex, we got eyes on captives, only one uninjured, possibly revenant. Call for med evac.”

“Copy. Gonna be rough getting them outta there without alerting Al-Mudahiyn-”

“The risk is worth it.” Farah answers tersely.

Alex takes it in stride, “of course, Commander. Wouldn’t think otherwise. Out here.”

Farah gives him a questioning look, her hand pressing on the handle, and Soap nods.

They enter the room, the woman jumping and shuffling back, before she recognizes Karim. “Commander?” she asks, before her eyes turn to stare at Soap, “you…”

“Samara.” Farah leans in to inspect the chains, “we’re going to get you out of here. You’re safe.”

Samara looks away from him, “have you seen Khalid? He escaped with Tariq and Rabia before I-”

Farah sighs, dropping the chains. They’re too strong for her to unlock by force, “they’re safe. I got them staying with us.” she addresses Soap next, “think you can burn through these chains, Sergeant?”

Soap frowns. The chains in question are short, wrapping around Samara’s arms tightly. “I can, but it would hurt her.”

Samara shakes her head, “it won’t.”

Soap opens his mouth to object, but she continues, “you are John MacTavish, aren’t you?”

What? “How do ye-”

“My Reaper was Destruction.”

… No. She can’t be. Soap eyes trail down, at the scorch marks.

They were trying to make more revenants of… Destruction?

A numbness spreads up his arms. Shepherd knew what he was. Would’ve taken his powers for himself, if Ghost wasn’t there to save him.

Graves knew these people, from what Farah and Alex have told them. Fought alongside them. He knew Samara was like him.

Soap could have lived his whole life not meeting another one of his kind, a revenant born only from the worst of the worst, crawling out of what reduces others to dust. Would have preferred it, really. How could he look them in the eye, knowing he was the worst of them?

And yet… He and Samara are not the same anymore, are they?

“Soap.” Farah calls him, “the chains.”

“On it.” He moves, stiff joints forced into motion, and takes hold of the metal links. He doesn’t hesitate to explode them, and after a flash and a loud noise, Samara slumps forward, Farah catching her before she can fall.

All Soap can do is stare at her arms. Uninjured. Immunity to explosions, complete immunity, unlike his.

Soap didn’t know his Reaper could do that. Has it chosen to leave him able to feel pain on purpose?

He can’t feel his arms. He averts his eyes, only for them to land on the rest of the bodies in the room.

Some of them are clearly Russian soldiers, their uniforms different from those of the ULF. Their flesh caved in, burns searing far into their muscles. Some are barely recognizable as human anymore.

This is what attempting to bring someone like him into the world looks like.

“John.” a voice startles him. Farah taps his shoulder, turning him away from the bodies, “Alex is on his way here, he’ll take care of Samara and the rest. We need to move, the guards noticed something’s off.”

Soap gives Samara one last look. She doesn’t look afraid of him. He wishes he could say the same.

“Aye, Commander. Lead the way.”

Soap wonders what it says about him that the prospects of a fight is what helped him snap back to the present. Nothing good, if his short meetings with shrinks over the years have anything to say about it.

His hands are steady on his rifle, flames small and controlled. Even when he and Farah hear the heavy footsteps of incoming hostiles. Even as they begin to shoot.

They only need to hold on until the medic team manages to clear the warehouse. They’re lucky Ghost, Price and Gaz are still working on diversion, as it seems Al-Mudahiyn isn’t lacking in fighters.

“Take the left side, Sergeant. Don’t let them through.” Farah trains her sights on the right hallway.

Soap copies her, “aye.”

The first fighters come into view, downed before they could process what happened. Soap dares to take another step forward.

He hears Karim’s rifle go off behind him, and opens fire again as another group of hostiles enters the corridor. This one was ready for them, and a few bullets hit his plate and graze his arm. Soap snarls, the pain flashing bright before the wounds begin to heal.

Now this feels right at home. The adrenaline pumping in his veins, lava-hot blood dripping down his arms, hands automatically reloading the rifle in his hands.

Al-Mudahiyn’s fighters have begun to circle them, using the small windows to attempt to break through their defence. Farah jumps in front of him when one almost hits him in the head with the butt of his gun, throwing a knife between his eyes as bullets tear through her shirt.

The hostiles are pushing them back now, Farah and Soap standing practically back-to-back.

Soap has been counting his shots, and in about 30 seconds he will be out of ammo. He grits his teeth and shouts, “got any extra mags, Commander?!”

“Negative! I’m on my last one!”

“Fuck-” his rifle clicks on the next shot, the chamber empty. He heaves a breath, another bullet slicing through his ear, his thigh, burning-

He throws his gun to the side, “yer immune teh explosions too?”

Farah spares a glance at him, “only to the aftermath. As long as you’re staying far, I’ll be fine.”

Soap flexes his hands, “copy.”

The next hostile that has the misfortune to step in front of him gets his head caved in. It sends a sickening feeling to his gut, a distant part of Soap screaming at the sight of a headless body.

That part of him gets farther away as he plows through enemies, his world narrowing to bright flashes and loud sounds, ears ringing, unable to heal fast enough. Nothing else matters, only the next target and the way it drops dead at his feet.

There’s a sick satisfaction in using his powers. Satisfaction in the knowledge there is nothing strong enough to withstand his explosions. Usually, that fact makes him scared. Right now, the part of him that fears isn’t allowed to control him.

Soap takes far too long to notice the smoke filtering through the door at the end of the hallway. In the forefront of his mind is a monster, snarling and wild, uncaring of such details. But the smoke thickens, a stench burning his lungs, and Soap can’t ignore it anymore.

“Commander! Something’s on the other side of the door!” he yells to Farah. When he doesn’t get a response, he looks back.

The Commander is staring at the smoke with horror, bullets dinging off her skin. She jerks into action, covering her mouth and backing away.

“Cover your mouth, Sergeant! It’s toxic!”

Soap steps back as well, burning hands coming up to his mouth and nose.

It does nothing to stop the wave of gas from filtering through, when the door slams open.

His knees collapse under him, lungs spasming with body-shuddering coughs, eyes tearing up. Soap barely stays upright, his arms shaking, as gas-masked hostiles surround them. They part for a single man to walk through.

Behind him, Farah growls, “you…”

He blinks away tears, and realizes the gas is coming from the man. Noxious, it streams from his mouth, his nose, his bright green eyes.

The man steps around him, a surge of gas almost knocking him out. Soap hears him approach Farah, and he manages to turn enough to watch her reaction as he speaks.

“You shouldn’t have come here, sister.”

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