Redemption [| PHILLIP GRAVES |]

CHAPTER I: The Aftermath

It was all black. He couldn't feel anything.

He could hear loud ringing inside his ears and he felt like shit. He felt like he would die at any given moment, his eyes shut so tight and only his mind running his vivid images. Is this really how he's going to die? He felt bad not to himself, but to Soap who he shot a couple of times. It probably costed him a lot of bandages because that fight was surely intense. He thought of all the scenes in his head if he didn't betray them. He was so stupid for subduing to Shepherd. Now he was going to die all alone in darkness, and he could feel the heat burn him as he was spending his last breaths inside a shredded tank.

How are you still that soft after going through such training?

Those words ran in his head, the constant taunting that Shepherd gave him in his weak state that night. He couldn't believe that man. Part of him is happy that the communication device broke during the explosion, it was such a relieving feeling for him to finally not hear that man's voice.

He already hated him the moment he requested that regrettable favor.

All that ran in his head was that wicked sentence. Was he really soft after all? So soft that he would accept dying and not see the light again? Fate asked him those questions in his imagination. It was almost taking him, yet he remembered something that wanted himself to keep going. It wasn't really that much to anybody, but only to Graves.

Those people are my only friends. If I ever leave them behind then I'll have nobody.

That thought wandered through his mind like a shockwave. It sent him to many possibilities that what if he tried surviving this inevitable moment? What if he can redeem himself? What if he can apologize for giving them the betrayal of the century?

Of course, nothing was going to outmatch his real reason, friends.

He still considered them as friends despite edging a knife to all of their backs. He would remember his past thoughts during that night with Shepherd. He wasn't doing it for himself or Shepherd... It was for them. And them only.

And so, he did the impossible.

Graves was still weak and fragile inside the tight tank. He felt like his head was about to explode with thoughts and a huge headache. He couldn't see anything because of the ash and dust that imploded within the explosion. He couldn't bring himself to do anything, but still tried to get out of the tank as soon as possible. He wanted to prove he wasn't a soft individual. Even if that means that he'll die proving.

He tried reaching out with his weak, clingy arms to try and look for the handle to open the tank. Everything was rusted, so it camouflaged well with the darkness and his sight would prove useless. Touch is what can get him out here.

Eventually, he feels a handle. A handle that gave him a glimmer of hope. He pried it open, and there... he was met with the sunset setting into the grounds of earth, its beautiful aura contrasting with the dark blue navy sky. It was almost night, and he thought that he spent so long contemplating inside that tank. He still felt so ill, so he couldn't do that much standing up properly. He couldn't even get out first of all because his legs hurt so much from the impact. The feeling of dried blood stuck on his face, and his ruined military clothing, stained by the foul gunpower of the C4's that Soap used to throw and counter him.