Pattern Breaker

Sleepwalking Without the Promise of Waking Up

Beep. Beep. Beep.

John groaned, his head lolling around uselessly.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

God, his head was splitting. He silently vowed to himself to never drink that much again.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Something heavy was sitting on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He brought two arms up, trying to push whatever it was off. He hit something solid and vaguely warm.

Wait, he hadn't been drinking. What had he been doing? And what the fuck was crushing him?

He shoved, and whenever it was rolled off from on top of him and thudded to the ground.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

And what the fuck was that annoying noise?

The hot, coppery smell of fresh blood hit him like a wrecking ball and he shot up, eyes now wide open. A man's body lay directly next to him, the back of his head blasted open. There was brain matter and skull fragments everywhere.

All over him.

He scrambled to his feet, wavering for a moment before leaning over and vomiting. Johnny had no idea where he was, what he was going there, and why the fuck there was a dead body quite literally laying on top of him. His chest ached at the force of his gagging, sharp pains shooting from all directions. The shirt he had on was torn open directly in the center. Ripping the fabric further to get a better look, he stared at the large cavity in the kevlar that housed the warped and dismembered bullet he had taken point blank.

"'Right. A bulletproof vest. Smart." He rambled to himself. "Why the fuck..." He looked around, breath panting from adrenaline and discomfort of probably a few broken ribs.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A flicker of familiarity. The tell-tale sound of a timer on a detonator.

This building was about to blow.

"Oh... shit!" Soap took off running, stumbling through rubble. "Shit, shit, shit!"

The skyscraper was already half torn apart from the inside, previously ignited explosions and dead soldiers around nearly every corner he took. He was panicked, tearing through hallways and down now unusable elevator shafts– lit only by emergency lights. It felt like each step he took, the warning sounds grew closer and closer together.

Because they did.

"Steamin' Jesus. How the fuck– how the fuck do I get out of here?" He cursed, skidding down a massive pile of broken cement. He ran to the back side of the building towards the closest open window. There was an aerial work platform about ten feet below him, hanging precariously from the half-destroyed supportive cords. No time to think, he took an unsteady foot on the ledge of the window before carefully stepping off– the quick rush of air around his body as he momentarily free-fell, making his innards feel weightless. His boots slammed into the metal with an ugly clang, crouching into his land with arms spread out wildly.

"Okay.... Now what?" He froze.

Then there was a mechanical groan, and one of the cords snapped, causing Soap to slide vertically down.

"Oi, ye fuckin' whalloper!" He shouted, free-falling once more. He landed on his back, dazed and confused, the heavy smell of rubbish and mold engulfing his senses.

"A trash bin." He said to himself blankly. "I just landed in a trash bin. How fucking classic." Bringing himself back up with a groan, he struggled to find purchase to drag himself out of the dumpster. Once he made it back to the ground, he immediately began running– trying to put as much distance between himself and the ticking building. He didn't know exactly where he was running to, and why something was telling him there was someone he needed to be looking for.