Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

XXXVII. A Crimson Desk

TW: I usually don't do this, but this chapter contains some graphic violence and descriptive usage of knives and guns.

Somehow, walking through this forest feels sardonic. The trees sway in the wind, the leaves hissing almost as if they're laughing at me. Laughing at the woman, helplessly strolling through the same forest she had walked through weeks before too. The shadows beneath the trees dance on the forest floor, casting a mocking play of light and dark.

Tears have been welling up in my eyes the whole way, but I refuse to let them fall.

Anger simmers beneath the surface, directed at Carter, at the twisted circumstances, but also at myself.

With each step, the questions claw at the edges of my consciousness.

Should I have been honest from the moment I decided? Would the truth have spared us this wreckage? Would he have been angry if I told him what my plan used to be, but also knowing I had changed my mind?

The forest remains silent, offering no solace, no answers. Only the rhythmic whispers of the leaves and the restrained anger that propel me forward.

I don't know how long it's been since I started walking. I left their base in a hurry, not returning to my room or encountering Price and the rest. I wasn't even able to extend apologies to anyone, except Soap. He advised me to leave, to brace for whatever plan their team was brewing in the wake of Price discovering the truth.

I'm certain it won't take them long to show up on the doorstep of this base, but I'm not sure what I'll be doing when that time comes.

I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to be doing now.

After hours of traversing the wilderness with nothing but a small pocketknife, the familiar base looms over me. The base I once felt connected with, now feels like a tapestry of deceit. Carter slithers within those walls, his presence staining every corner. I can't help but imagine the office I used to call mine, violated by his trespass as he runs his nasty fingers over the edges of my desk.

I imagine the wood beneath his fingertips splintering, leaving jagged edges of the materials embedded into his skin. I see him hissing through his teeth as small drops of blood spill from the pads of his fingers.

The same blood I'll be hunting for right now.

Looking up at the building, I try to think of ways to get inside. They think I've died. At least that was the plan. Standing in front of the building now, I'm not sure what story Carter told them.

He could've told him anything.

My gaze scans the shadows cast by the building, searching for an entrance unseen. A familiar window, slightly ajar, catches my attention. It's supposed to be near some offices which were mostly empty when I was there. It will probably be my safest option.

Clenching the small pocketknife, I edge closer, feeling the anger within me intensify with every step.

With stealth, I slide the window open, the metal frame creaking in reluctant protest. I slip inside, the air heavy with the scent of secrecy and deceit. I notice a guard the second my eyes land on what's behind.

After a short moment, I notice it is Brian, the guard who had shown me to my new office that first day I came back to Spike. I get through the window as silently as possible, my knife concealed as I sneak up behind him.

Brian and I used to rely on each other, though I can never be too certain on how he feels about me right now. For all I know, Carter could have told them I murdered his entire family, and that I was planning on doing the same to each and every single one of them.