I want to go home...
It was dark. Soap tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't. Everything remained black. He tried to put his arms up, to get his eyes free, but it didn't work. His hands were chained behind his back. He was sitting on a chiar or something. The room, he sat in, was cold and the air was dry. Could have been his throat as well. It ached, like someone had tried to chocke him.
His ears caught the sound of a door. Footsteps. He recognized only two feet. And he froze, when he heard the voice, calling him. "Good morning, Captain MacTavish.", the Russian greeted him. Soap remaind quiet and felt his heart beating fast. He was a hostage of the most dangerous man alive? Great. How'd he get here?
But when he tried to remember, his head ached again and dizzyness overcame him.
"Really impolite. Didn't your Captain tell you to be nice, being around strangers?" Soap still didn't speak a word. He held his head high in the direction, he thought Makarov was standing.
"Anyway. I haven't come around to ask you about your manors. I just want to know, where you got your information about our facility from."
Makarov walked around and stopped, behing Soap. He tightend the blindfold until Soap released a little sound of pain, cause of his headaches and the pressure on his eyes.
Day 2
Keeping the pressure on the wound, Makarov pushed his thumb into the hole in Soap's shoulder, caused by a bullet, before he was captured
When the soldier began to scream, Makarov pressed a hand on the younger one's mouth and grinned disgustingly. "You see, Captain? Everything's got its price. And if you want to keep your secrets, you have to pay for it."
The Russian let go of the other man's body and took a step back. Watching the sweat on Soap's face running down into his eyes and along his throat.
MacTavish was swallowing the pain. At least a part of it. His eyes still fixed a point, where he believed Makaraov was standing. He took a deep breath and spitted into the man's face. Most of it blood.
Makarov, looking even more like a mad man than before, full of disgust and impression for the soldier's guts, hitting him hard, crushing his nose.
MacTavish just released a sound of pain. He was tired and made the mistake of showing this to the terrorist.
"I see, boy, you have enough of this." Makarov nodded. He took a knife out of Soap's belt and held the blade in front of the Scott's eyes.
"This will be painful but maybe your brain can't stand this and you finally can go to sleep..."
MacTavish hold his breath and wanted to shout at him, to just stop, when the knife ran through his cheeks, leaving small but very painful and bloody wounds in his face.
He cried out and his head fell down, chin near his chest.
"Now you can think, before you act, my friend."
Day 3
"Nice lighter. A present? From your dear friend Price, maybe?"
Makarov watched the flame dancing in the air, while Soap already could smell something burn.
He was breathing hard, the wounds in his face slowly stealing his consciousness. He felt Makarov's hand keeping pressure on his aching head.
"So, you don't wanna answer me?"
Soap remained still. He was just swallowing.
"Alright".
The Russian held the lighter right into the flesh wound on Soap's chest, caused by the knife.
The smell of burning meat quickly flew into MacTavish's nose. He already was screaming, while Makarov was nearly laughing.
"I wonder how long it still takes, until you scream for him, for help."
When Makarov put the lighter away, the wound was smoking and Soap's voice had a crying tone. His panting was nearly visible.
Vladimir stepped back from behind the Scottish.
He walked around Soap and was standing in front of him he kneeled down, putting one hand on his hostage's knee. In his other hand, the knife was flipping from right to left, untill Makarov drove it into John's joint.
"Gaah... !!" Soap was about to puke but Makarov put a hand on his mouth again. He opened the blindfold and looked into MacTavish's eyes. This guy was totally done. Lost a lot of blood. And he was stuck there for a few days.
Day 4
Makarov had spend much time with the soldier.
Soap's eyes had finally dropped some tears in pain during the last torture. He wanted to tell the Russian to stop, but he was afraid of sounding like a pussy -literally-
Makarov recognized this already and held a phone onto Soap's ear.
"Who is this?" A familiar voice asked.
"It's me.. Price... " Soap's own voice sounded so weak, tired, broken. "I'm sorry Price... I wasn't able to.. Stand this. Please... Price, please get me outta here..."
Price wasn't even able to answer. He knew, Soap had his weak moments from time to time, but this time it was caused by another one. Their arch enemy.
But before Price could tell Soap he'd already been on his way, Makarov quit the call.
"Nice work."
Soap felt shamed. He looked away from Makarov and tried to ignore the pain in his knee. The sweat was burning in his wounds and eyes.
"You think, he'll find you?"
Soap didn't answer.
Makarov wasn't best known for his patience. He punshed the soldier so hard, the chair he was sitting on, fell to the side.
"I was asking you something!"
Instead of answering, Soap tried to stay conscious. His whole body was burning, aching, shacking.
He looked up to the Russian, when his shoe hit MacTavish's face. The scar on his left eye wasn't able to stand the pressure and burst open. Blood spread around his face.
"Ah... " he was gasping, wanted to touch the wound and was even more surprised when he was able to.
He looked up again. Makarov was standing in front of the open door.
"You can go. ... If you can."
He smiled. First softly then like the devil himself.
He started to laugh, when Soap pulled himself towards the door. He left a trace of blood, but stopped, when Makarov came closer again. He countinued walking and stopped near a table from which he grabbed a bat.
Soap already hold his breath. "No-....!"
But it was of no use. Makarov hit Soap's legs until both of them cracked. But even then he didn't stop. He crushed some of Soap's rips, his shoulder.
Just when he saw tears mixing with sweat, ran across Soap's face, he stopped for a moment.
"Say it!!", he yelled at the wounded.
"Please ... Stop... ", John cried, holding his arm up to guard his face. "Just.. Stop... "
Vladimir started laughing and kneeled down to the younger one again.
He pointed at a corner. "You see this? My new cam? I've recorded the last past days and wonder what your mates would say, if they saw it..."
Soap didn't really got that at all. He just closed his eyes, breathing hard. "I want to go home..."
Day 6
MacTavish was standing on the cold basement wall. And least, as long as his broken legs were able to bear him
His hands were hold in chains, like a medieval prisoner. He was standing in his own blood, his eyes closed.
His thoughts were around the past few days. It had been one day that Makarov was gone. At least he hadn't seen him for one day.
His thoughts were interrupted by sudden shots. He opened his eyes and tried to look up. But he wasn't able to keep his head held high.
The gunshots were combined with screams and shouts. But Soap was able to recognized any voices. There was just an aweful static in his head.
A few minutes later the door bashed open and three rifles pointed in his direction. Soap had no idea if he had to be scared or reliefed. Even when he heard the voice of his commanding officer he looked like a junkie waiting for his next shot.
While Roach and Ghost kept the corridor free of enemies, Price went over to Soap and released him. The boy fell down and nearly hit the ground if Price hadn't caught him. He layed him softly into his arms and wiped the blood and dirt out of his face. "Your safe now, son.", he promised Soap. And it still took Soap a while to finally check who was talking to him. His tired eyes fixed the old man's and his sight suddenly vanished when tears came back, filling his eyes and running down his cheecks and tempels.
"Thank you, god..."
Price laughed. "You can call me Captain, son. That's still enough. Come one. We have to get you outta here."
But before he could ask about the situation, Soap buried his face into Price's clothes.
The old one looked at him, with the look of a father, feeling true love for his son. His hand rested on Soap's head, caressing him shortly. "It's alright, boy. Just let us get out of here. Back home, we can continue this."
Soap nodded, closed his eyes and finally lost consciousness.
