Call of Desire

1. Genesis

gen·e·sis
/ˈjenəsəs/
noun
the origin or mode of formation of something.

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Content Warning: Gun Violence, Alcohol Consumption, Blood, Gore

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Soap gripped the door of the helo, his gaze fixed upon the mostly barren landscape stretching out before him.

"Our mission is to eliminate every person in that building," Ghost shouted over the roaring helicopter engines, his words met with affirmatives from the entire group. "Alpha team, you're with Soap. Bravo, follow me. Let's get in and out!"

The helo descended, hovering just a few feet above the brown grass. Soap leapt to the ground, followed by Alpha team, gesturing for them to move forward. He cast a quick glance back, ensuring Ghost was also on the move.

"We're taking the nearest building first. Alpha, stay low and move fast," Soap directed, pointing towards a group of structures in the distance. Both teams stealthily advanced, utilizing the cover of dead trees and foliage.

Soap clenched his jaw, knowing full well the terror organization housed skilled snipers. The complex they were infiltrating offered little cover, with a flat, 50-meter radius around it. Alpha team neared the edge of the lifeless forest, and Soap signalled for the three men to halt.

"Ghost, three snipers on the east side of the building," Soap muttered, his eyes scanning for other threats. He despised enemy snipers, even though he relished being one himself.

"Copy. Four on the west roof," Ghost's usually confident demeanour wavered slightly, sending a chill down Soap's spine. "Doesn't change a thing. Keep pushing forward."

"Roger." MacTavish motioned for his team to proceed, cautioning them to stay out of the light. The cover of night worked in their favour, but floodlights illuminated the corners of the building, leaving only a few areas shrouded in darkness. "Let's move!"

Alpha team manoeuvred through the few patches of darkness, closing in on a door situated on the north side of the complex.

"Alpha team in position."

"Bravo team in position. Breaching."

"Alpha team breaching." Kicking down the door, the Sergeant swiftly dispatched the lone guard sitting across from the entrance with three well-placed bullets. "Clear. Moving inside." The four men continued clearing each room, seizing computers and files for extraction.

Room after room, bullet after bullet, Soap took point. Within five minutes of entry, they cleared the northernmost building. "This is Alpha. Bravo team, how copy?"

"Bravo has completed intel extraction. In position for the final building."

"Roger, we're en route." Soap motioned for his men to follow, converging with Bravo team outside the easternmost building. Stealthily navigating past illuminated areas, Alpha made their way across the complex.

"We're on the final push, lads," Soap addressed his team. "We're almost there--"

An explosion ripped through the air, followed by a barrage of gunshots. Soap turned just in time to witness a plume of smoke ascending towards the sky.

"Fall back!" Ghost's urgent voice cut through Soap's earpiece, barely audible over the chaotic symphony of gunfire.

"Ghost!?" Soap's blood ran cold. He sprinted towards the source of the mayhem, his team closely behind him. "Simon!" Gunshots reverberated through the otherwise serene night, shattering any hopes of maintaining stealth.

As soon as Soap laid eyes on Bravo team, he was abruptly blinded and deafened by a flashbang. Blinking rapidly, he scrambled towards the nearest cover, his M4 lying before him. A searing pain shot through his hip as a bullet tore through it, causing him to collapse onto the dirt. His scream drowned in the deafening ringing in his ears. Gradually, his vision cleared, and he mustered the strength to grab his M4.

Ghost found himself surrounded by terrorists, relentlessly attacked from all sides. With lethal precision, he dispatched one enemy after another, knives flashing, bullets flying.

In a swift motion, Soap retrieved his M4 and fired the remaining rounds into any enemy soldier within his sight.

"Simon!" Soap shouted as his magazine ran empty. "We need to go!"

"Damn it, run, Johnny!" Ghost yanked Soap off the ground and propelled him in the direction of the forest. "I'll find you!"

Using his empty M4 as a makeshift crutch, Soap staggered through the deserted town, his injured hip protesting every step. His head throbbed, and blood had already soaked through his jeans.

"This is 7-1, in the blind. How copy?... Damn it..." Soap gritted his teeth, stumbling as the adrenaline subsided. "Ghost, do you copy?"

Silence filled the comms. Fuck.

"Ghost...?" Was Ghost dead? The thought sent a shiver down Soap's spine. "Ghost, please, mate. How copy?" Exhausted, Soap sought refuge in an abandoned bar, clumsily knocking over several tables. Only a few bottles of alcohol remained behind the counter. MacTavish grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey, popped the top off, and downed most of its contents in an attempt to dull the pain. He grimaced at the taste. He despised whiskey.

"Soap?" Ghost's voice washed over Soap, filling him with relief. "Didn't think you'd make it."

A faint smile tugged at Soap's lips. "Neither did I."

"Are you injured?"

"Bullet went through my hip. Walking's a challenge, but I'll survive." Soap clenched his jaw, slumping against the bar, utterly drained.

"Where are you?"

"I ran southeast... ended up in a town...?" A yelp of pain escaped Soap's lips as he attempted to find a more comfortable position. "I'm in a bar."

"I'm making my way to you, Johnny," Ghost sighed, his voice laced with what sounded like relief. "Just stay put."

"Roger... See you soon, Lt." Soap winced, applying more pressure to his wound. Fatigue tugged at him. "I'll try to get some rest."

"John, don't sleep. You've lost too much blood for that to be safe," Ghost's voice trembled as he ran. "And you probably have a concussion."

"Are you on the move?" Soap mumbled, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

"Yes, Johnny. I won't let you bleed out."

"You've taken a liking to me then?"

"No. Of course not," Ghost's smirk seemed almost audible. "Just keep your blood inside you, copy?"

"So you do care," Soap winced, his leg throbbing.

"I care that you're breathing."

Soap hesitated before speaking again. "Ghost...?"

"Soap?"

"What went wrong back at the complex? What happened?"

"We breached the door and got ambushed by around thirty men. Lost all of Bravo." Simon's voice was filled with melancholy. "Our extraction abandoned us. Don't think any of Alpha made it out either."

Soap exhaled heavily. "Damn it..."

"We lost too many good people today. I won't lose you, too, mate." Ghost's voice sounded almost desperate. Or was it worry? Fear? No, Ghost doesn't feel fear.

"I'm not going anywhere, Simon," Soap whispered, his grip tightening on his bleeding hip. He didn't know if he could keep that promise as he watched the blood begin to pool beneath him.

"Good."