Chapter Text
The evening sun settled into the horizon along the Scottish highlands. Specks of gray and black floated away, bouncing along the wind.
Price watched those specks. Gaz and Simon were there, too.
Ashes.
When a soldier died in combat, their body or ashes were usually sent to their next closest kin. Johnny had none. The closest kin he’d ever had were his team, the task force. Price, a father. Gaz, a brother. Simon, a lover. Johnny was gone now, ripped away from his family.
Price stood in the glare of the evening rays, shielding his eyes from the bright light. The wind blew in cool gusts, signaling the coming of spring. Spring invited new life to be born, commencing a new cycle. A symbol of rebirth and prosperity. We all do our spring cleaning, starting afresh. And so, of course it was ironic that Johnny died during a time of renewal. Gaz watched Johnny’s ashes blow away into the rolling green highlands as they emptied his urn together. It was Johnny’s wish that, should he ever die in combat, he should be cremated and returned to his homeland. It was where his heart belonged. Simon “Ghost” Riley stood rooted to the spot beside Kyle, hands shoved in his pockets, face hiding behind his skull balaclava. He never took that thing off, especially not now. Behind the mask, his stoic expression was on the verge of breaking, on the verge of ruining his stone cold mask. Simon couldn’t properly handle grief. He had witnessed a lot of death during his career, so grief constantly washed over him like ocean waves. He just didn’t know how to handle it.
So, he buried it deep down, bottling it up.
Soap had meant a whole lot to Simon—more than anyone else ever had. He had taken a liking to the Sergeant, garnering respect and admiration for the man. Eventually, that admiration evolved into something more, something more intimate. Simon found himself falling for the cheeky Scot.
Simon had never questioned his sexuality—he thought for sure that he was straight. Falling in love with anyone, let alone a man…well, that thought had never crossed his mind. Love wasn’t something that was attainable in Simon’s line of work. It just didn’t fit into the equation; too many risks, too many terrible possibilities. Until Johnny came along.
“Soap? That’s your callsign…?” Simon remembered asking him when they first met shortly after Price assembled the Task Force.
“Aye. What do they call you?” Johnny asked Simon in return.
“...Ghost.”
“Either you did something really stupid, or you did some fucked up shit to end up with a callsign like that,” Johnny remarked.
“Want the details?” Simon smirked.
“No. I think I’ll spare myself from that information,” Johnny said, grinning.
After the operation in Las Almas, Johnny quickly realized why Simon was known as “Ghost”. Witnessing Simon’s lethal combat skills proved to Johnny that he wasn’t a man to get on the bad side of. What impressed him the most was Simon’s way with knives. Give that man a knife and a target, he’ll have him down in under a minute. The elite precision led to a swift yet bloody end.
The wind was beginning to pick up, blowing harder now. A chill settled in the air, making Kyle stuff his hands in his pockets. The sun had finally set, inviting dusk to come out and make its presence known. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick was a simple man. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what had to be done. Follow orders, and don’t fuck it all up. It was simple.
Johnny's death veered him off course. Well, not just him, but the entire task force. An integral part of their force was gone, violently ripped from their grasp. Kyle always felt the need to step up and take action. What was it he had said to Price many years ago?
Then why have we got our hands tied? Let’s just take the bloody gloves off and fight…!
The gloves were taken off. Kyle realized what it meant to get down and dirty, fighting and drawing the line where they needed to, where it was most convenient. How far did they have to go until it was “too far”? And now, with Johnny gone, he didn’t know where he stood. He was most afraid of the future and what it had in store.
Kyle turned to face the Captain. “Sir…” he began softly, his tone careful.
Price glanced at him. “Yes, Sergeant?” He asked, his voice cold.
Kyle paused before speaking. “What do we do now?” He asked quietly.
Price said nothing for a long moment. “Only what’s necessary,” he finally said.
Kyle furrowed his brows. “Sir?”
Price didn’t respond. Simon only watched the interaction in silence.
John Price was a man of conviction. Once he set his mind to doing something, it would get done, no matter what. When John and the rest of the task force had apprehended General Herschel Shepherd in an attempt to capture Vladimir Makarov, he knew at that moment what had to be done. He had made his final decision; Price was judge, jury, and executioner.
I will kill General Shepherd. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but it must be done.
Now, Price had all the more reason to do it. In his mind, Shepherd was directly responsible for the death of one of his best men. Shepherd was the enemy.
A thought flashed in Price’s mind. Never bury your enemies alive, Captain, Makarov had snarled as he ended Johnny’s life. Price was ready to see through on that advice. First Shepherd, the Makarov. He needed to tie up loose ends; now was the time to do it.
They left the highlands that evening, carrying the weight of their loss with them. The first thing Price did when he returned to base was make a phone call.
“Captain,” Laswell said, picking up after the first ring.
“Laswell,” Price replied, voice heavy.
She sighed on the other end of the phone. “What can I do for you?” She asked.
“I need a favor,” Price said. “It’s…a large ask,” he explained.
Laswell furrowed her brows, the grip on her phone tightening. “Go on,” she said. “And before you say anything, again, I’m sorry for your loss,” she added.
Price huffed, yet not quite a laugh. “I’m sorry, too.”
Kate Laswell was a calm, calculating woman. Every decision she made was a thought-through, practical one. Working in the intelligence field required patience and efficiency, skills that she had learned to master long ago. Kate knew the risks of her job; she knew that one small mistake would lead to the collapse of her career, or worse—her nation. Which was exactly why she needed to move fast. Getting Price in and out without incident was tricky, not just because of the logistics, but also because she could get caught. Kate would get tried either under the Espionage Act or in aiding and abetting in the murder of a high-ranking general in the U.S. Army. She would be marked as a traitor to her country. To the rest of the world, she would be seen as a criminal who betrayed her nation; to Kate, she was saving the United States from further chaos.
Price found himself in Washington D.C. two days later. He was sitting in the driver's seat of a black SUV, engine running, releasing puffs of smoke into the cold air of the night. He was parked on the side of a street just in front of the gates of the Pentagon mall entrance, watching the guards. He made sure to park away from any street lights to avoid drawing attention.
After two minutes, he pulled up to the security booth, reaching inside his jacket for the ID badge that Laswell had given him to gain access to the building. Price reached behind his jacket and felt for the gun in his waistband, making sure it was there. He was waved on through, in the clear.
For now.
Before entering the building, Price took the gun out and began disassembling it, an act ingrained in his mind. His hands worked quickly as he began hiding the various parts in different pockets, the placement precise enough that it wouldn’t look suspicious when he went through security.
He had made it safely through security, now heading towards the second floor of the massive building where Shepherd’s office was located. Price walked quickly yet cautiously in order to not raise any suspicion, avoiding cameras in his path along the vast corridors. He snaked his way through the building, bypassing secured doors and entrances with his ID badge. His clearance was high enough that he got through without any trouble, all thanks to Kate. Once the elevator opened up to the second floor, Price began to act fast. In his informal civilian attire, he looked out-of-place in this setting. He avoided crowds of people to not draw any unwanted attention, weaving in and out of rooms. Price finally made it to the general’s door. His office was located in a secluded corner of the floor in a dimly lit hallway, away from the rest of the people. Pressing his ID badge into the scanner, Price entered the dark room, the only light coming from the lights of the city. And now, all he had to do was wait. General Shepherd would arrive in due time, unsuspecting.