Soap's death was very sad. But, I could not help to ask myself "What if he somehow survived?" I believe that anything is possible, so please give this story a chance!

~ We Are Blood Brother's ~

The mission had been simple : Take down Makarov at the hotel Lustig and put a permanent stop to this madness for good. However, it did not turn out that way at all. The mentally deranged man had always been known to be one step ahead of anything, including the spontaneous tactics of war. Soap realized this when he glimpsed that haunting flash of red light behind him and the sound of a timer clicking repeatedly. Although he did not recall the treacherous free fall off the church tower, he clearly remembered the bolt of pain that shot through his whole body until it finally hit the asphalt afterwords.

But the pain did not end there. Soap didn't have the wonderful luxury of passing out into an embracing darkness like he wished. No, instead he withstood being practically dragged what felt like miles by Price and Yuri as he was slowly becoming dead weight with each drop of blood. Through his blurred vision he could spot the liquid crimson markings in a long streak created of red dots and puddles along the road. And that was when he at last grasped the thought that Captain John Mactavish might not make it today.

Instead of accepting the wretched fact, he pulled out his sidearm and began killing as many enemies as he could. He refused to go down without a fight. While soldiers dropped one by one from all three of their guns combined, Soap felt increasingly light headed. Every limb ached harshly and his muscles felt like they were being torn to pieces. He hated being a disadvantage to the two men protecting him and asked Price to just leave him behind. But the old man was stubborn, always had been since Soap met him, and rejected the suggestion almost immediately.

When they had ultimately reached a sort of safe house, Soap was only barely conscious. He had heard Price yelling at the resistance team assisting them, then a hard surface against his back. No matter how hard he inhaled, there didn't seem to be enough air in the room. His head pounded with a headache and he could even hear his own frantic heartbeat as Price yelled for a medic. Too bad his friend did not fully understand that Soap was dieing before his very eyes. If a medic had arrived, which was impossible considering that they were in the middle of a war zone, he would have been too late.

Soap felt the iron taste of blood boiling in his throat when Yuri put pressure on his biggest wound. With heavy eyelids attempting to remain closed and his comrade furiously shaking his feeble body, he recollected an urgent memory. He had to tell Price...he had to warn his best friend about the Russian beside him. Calling Price's name in a hoarse whisper, putting a trembling hand on his neck collar and then saying "You need to know...Makarov...knows...Yuri." sapped all his strength away in a split second.

His blue eyes were greeted with a warm darkness, unlike that bright light everyone talks about before death, and his hand fell away from Price as his form went limp. Although Soap could still feel himself being unwound bit by bit, his ears picked up on Captain Price's cries of anguish and how he begged for him to come back 'I'm sorry, my friend.' he thought solemnly 'I will see you in the next life.' wherever that may be. Will he go to a place without war? That would definitely be a change of nature. No war, just peace and a place where people can live without a single worry on their joyful minds.

At last, his heart stopped beating. A buzz of complete silence filled his numb brain, everything around him collapsing into shards of glass that were soon fogged into black. The pieces of glass seemed to have sealed tightly together to make an opaque cave around his floating body. No longer was there a rough table pressing on him, the sound of voices that appeared too loud, or fighting to survive one more day. There was nothing but darkness. This was something he was not used to, for Soap had grown accustomed to a gun blazing in his hands and explosions echoing in the far off distance of a battlefield.

Here he was now, dead, and not a single golden gate or puffy white cloud in sight. If he was able, Soap would have laughed 'Bloody hell, what am I thinking?' already beginning to believe he was loosing his mind. He barely lived through the knife Shepherd jammed into his chest, right between the ribs and an inch short from his heart, however he didn't live through being caught in the blast radius on the church. At least he saved Yuri's life when the bomb went off. Although he did not know if this was a good or bad thing.

Suddenly, the pieces of glass surrounding him shifted from the room his cold body laid in before to the darkness that tried to corrupt them. It was dizzy to even watch this. Soap closed his eyes tightly, hoping that he was just imagining things, and blinked them open to see the musky tavern safe house he had died in. His lungs filled with a great burst of air as he gasped to inhale more. The pounding he had felt against his head came back all at once and his fingers twitched while blood pumped through his veins once again. The pain was the worst thing that came back, every nerve screaming in misery.

Soap felt like he had just been hit by an oncoming train. Each breath burnt his already raw throat and he felt unnaturally hot when sweat began to run down his scratched up face. Through the agony, he could hear the unsettling screams of soldiers dieing by machine fire. One of the men alive yelled "Did the others get out alive?" Sadly, there was no response and the new quietness that settled over the area told him they were all dead.

Darkness clouded his vision, Soap knew he had to do something to survive, even if this was just a figment of his imagination. He didn't want to return to that horrid dark arena where he might be forced to stay forever. Alas he tried to scream, but all that came out was a weak exhale of air. The crash of splintering wood replaced the silence, which was more than likely the door, and many feet could be heard walking cautiously on the wooden floor.

'Price..?' he thought hopefully.

"Jasný " someone called with a foreign language Soap couldn't quite place.

There was a large sigh across the room "Their probably already out of Czech Republic by now." a man called with the same accent, though in rough English. It became harder to breath over time and the sour taste of blood rising in his throat gave way to a gruff cough. Soap's sore body protested to this harsh act, shivering although he felt extremely feverish. Did he accidentally alert the men? If they had said anything else, the sound of his labored breathing had drowned it out.

Through hazy vision, all he could make out was a tall man wearing light brown battle armor studying him closely. Without another word, the man motioned to his troops and seemed to have come to a quick decision. Fading in and out of consciousness once again, Soap only caught half of what was going on. One moment someone was leaning over him with medical gauze, the next his body hurt a little less. Had they drugged him? A pair of men adorned in the same armor went to both ends of his struggling body to pick him up. The mere feeling of them moving him caused him to wince and grit his teeth. When he awoke, they had just finished sliding him into the back of a large vehicle and slammed the door closed 'Who are these people?'

The guy that had found him sat right at his head and ordered the driver to go while the passenger turned back to them and asked a question Soap could not translate. A short lived laugh was heard above him by the man as he replied "Tell the Captain we have precious cargo."