Beautiful Lie [John 'Soap' Mactavish]

Forty Four [ I Stand Alone]

Soap sat in the back of the van.

Nikolai drove, his grip on the wheel tight as he glanced in the rear view mirror into the back of the van. Soap sat on the left side, his arms resting on his knees as he lost himself in thought, he subconsciously fiddled with the metal band around his ring finger. Price sat opposite the younger captain, cigar held between his lips gently exhaling the smoke into the air, Yuri sat next to Price, his head rested back against the metal as it rumbled lightly.

The younger captain hadn't spoken a word, he hadn't said anything, just stared at his boots, he had examined every inch of them, the tiny specs of dirt on the laces, how they wrapped and winded through the loops before meeting at the top in a short bow, he wiggled his toes in his boots, tensing them before relaxing, he didn't know why.

"Makarov is on the sixth floor. Room 117" Nikolai spoke. At the Russians words the younger captain's eyes snapped up. His jaw wound impossibly tight as straightened up, his hands gripped his knees as he rolled his shoulders lightly.

"One seventeen. Got it" He spoke, he glanced towards Price, before his hands found his weapon. He checked it over, and then again, he didn't want to take any risks.

This is what he had been waiting for. For his revenge.

Price exchanged a worried glance with Yuri, the Russian shrugging lightly as the older captains gaze returned to Soap, watching as he checked the magazine in his pistol before sliding it back into the holster on his thigh, the van began to slow down, Soap glanced forward, watching through the windshield as they slowly approached the large expensive hotel.

"This is it. Makarov doesn't leave here alive" Price spoke, lifting his own gun, he held the light machine gun in his hands, cocking it, preparing for their final battle, Soap and Yuri nodded in unison, Price turned towards the door.

"For Alyssa" Price spoke, his gaze returning to Soap for a brief second.

"For Alyssa" Yuri repeated. John remained silent. Only offering them a curt nod as he stood moving to the back doors of the van.

Soap quickly pushed the doors open, the trio jumped down from the van, lifting their guns.

They fired on the guards surrounded the entrance.

John moved with deadly precision, his eyes barely blinking as his sight remained focused down his scope, he moved like liquid, effortless as he carefully walked forward, not tearing his eyes from his scope as he reloaded.

"Civilians coming out, watch your fire!" Price ordered.

John made no noise of acknowledgement, silently watching his shots more carefully as people ran from the hotel lobby, their screams filled his ears, mothers gripping their children as they fled, business men diving for safety as they continued their assault on the hotel.

Soap only had one thing on his mind, one vision, finding Makarov and killing him, watching with his own eyes as the life drained from the terrorists, he wanted to make him suffer, to take out all his anger, grief and rage out on the Russian.

He wanted him to feel what she felt.

He wanted Makarov to be scared.

To feel the cold hand of death, caress his cheek while he was barely conscious.

Soap reloaded his gun, watching as Price and Yuri caught up with the younger captain, John pressed the button to call the lift quickly, pressing it three times in quick succession, the doors opened with a small ding.

The trio entered quickly pressing the button for floor six, Johns jaw wound tight once again, his foot rapidly tapping against the floor as his eyes darted around the lift, it was well decorated, expensive looking with what John would consider and very ugly rug covering the floor.