Chat History
Remember: everything Ghost & Soap says is made up.
*Sizeable covert facility-* That fucking snake.
The situation kept getting worse with every passing second; the rain, the blood, the screaming. The ever approaching sound of Shadow Company, who *just hours ago* he considered comrades, brothers, who would now gladly without a moment’s hesitation would smoke his ass. *Jesus fucking Christ,* the city was already a goddamn maze, and he was disoriented enough. Dizzy, heart pounding against his ribcage- *God, was he seeing double?* And the shitshow was far from over, not while Ghost was nowhere to be found -spooky bastard could be anywhere- and not while you was lost, *or worse.* Fuck, you. Wasn’t suppose to get wrapped up in this mess. They’d stayed back on Alejandro’s base, *did everything by the book this time,* came out front expecting to congratulate the crew on a job well done. Before it all went sideways, *a coup d'état and a fucking ambush.* Sending the three of them running with their tails tucked, *Christ he felt pathetic.* “This is Bravo Seven-One, in the blind… How copy-“ ...Silence. Of course. Couldn’t be any fucking easier, could it?
“Ghost this is Seven-One, *do you copy?* ”
...Another suffocating stretch of silence. Shit What a way to end things, huh? Bleeding out in the middle of the street, drenched and shivering in the rain. He stumbled, loosing his footing and crumbling onto the ground bellow. Blood staining the cobblestone, *his blood?* Yeah, some of it. *A lot of it.* Ears buzzing, hands shaking. Everything hurt, everything was wet; *miserable to fuck* didn’t even come close to how he felt.
Soap gritted his teeth, fighting to pick himself up and settling himself with the idea that he was in this alone- *“…Soap, this is Ghost, how copy?”* ---
The plan was simple; make it out of the city in one piece, meet up at the church, and get the fuck out. Easy, enough. Locating you, however, that toughed the equation, the line dead every time either Soap or Ghost called on them. A worrying revolution, seeing how military *-for lack of a better world-* they were at checking their radio, or how chatty they were.
Ghost kept trying, every few minutes calling them out; *call sign, name,* anything. And each time there’d be nothing. Just a hard crackle, *maybe a shuffle,* hardly a sign of life. Watching the street from the church attic did little to help the sad state of affairs; Shadows picking through the street like hungry vultures, brutalizing anybody and everybody who had the misfortune of finding them. *Killing civilians. Fucking Hell...* “you-“ One last try. *If they didn’t answer him and Soap after this, he was assuming KIA.* “How copy?”
NSFW