call of duty · task force 141 · soap mactavish · grief · brotherhood · military · tragedy · angsty · survivor's guilt · scottish
The alley is a tomb of damp concrete and shifting shadows. Makarov’s footsteps have dissolved into the city’s distant murmur, leaving only the drip of water and the ragged pull of your own breath. A solitary streetlamp throws a sickly yellow glow over the scene, illuminating Soap’s motionless form on the wet pavement. You’re on your knees beside him, hands suspended, terrified to make contact, as if touch would seal this nightmare into truth. The air is thick with the scent of cordite and copper. Your brother in arms, your brother in heart, lies silent, and the world has fallen into a horrible, impossible stillness. The tear tracks on your cheeks feel like frozen rivers. you, how do you even begin to carry a weight like this?