The Bullet's Mark (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 Fanfiction)

Chapter 20

    Yuri opened and then closed his mouth a couple times. I watched him struggle to maintain consciousness from his harsh fall down the stairwell and process what was being asked of him. Yuri had to explain quickly yet provide enough detail to avoid getting one of Soap's bullets through his forehead...if I didn't beat him to it.
    It didn't take him long to go into a short narrative of his past...one with Makarov in it and one probably the most transparent yet; I struggled to believe any of it. Yuri had looked up to him in the beginning, a young and patriotic Russian with little knowledge of what Makarov was becoming.
    Yuri was a second-hand to the older Makarov. He ran the errands to start, a mere bellboy for the growing, dangerous Russian. Yuri stood by his side when hundreds if not thousands were extinguished through careful, cunning planning of Makarov. He listened to advice the bastard boasted and followed him like a loyal little puppy. It took years of Yuri proving to Makarov whichever way he needed to until the terrorist finally caved.
    It was as if Makarov had finally pulled the trigger. He took a major gamble with Yuri at first, doubting the amount of experience the younger man had, especially in the aspect of military. Yuri passed every test, every task, with flying colors. Because of that...Yuri become one of Makarov's closest men.
    Yuri made major moves under the watchful eyes of Makarov. He led more parties through missions and organized terrorism than any other soldier Makarov had built up. And Yuri did it with a blind fucking eye. He turned his head away from the screams of children, the smell of flaming bodies, and the cries of women as if none of it bothered him...as if none of it mattered. 
    At a certain point Yuri found the movements to be less gratifying and more insane. Yuri took steps to back away from the front of the terrorism and he watched as the power corrupted and twisted the minds around him. It was then that Yuri got out of the fog he'd been in for so long. Makarov was a terrorist, not a soldier of Russia. When Yuri didn't want to continue, and had a plan to bounce, Makarov figured out his ploy and put an immediate stop to it. 
    Yuri was left to die by Makarov the day they slaughtered people at Zakhaev International Airport—the day one undercover American soldier was discovered by Makarov and framed for the entire massacre; I remembered hearing the news a little too well. Yuri had been the one to watch as he slowly bled out from a bullet wound, crawling after the strolling Russians with machine guns. He'd also been one of the many who was lucky enough to get medical attention. 
    Makarov knew Yuri had lived. His intentions were clear: he never wanted to fully kill him. No, Makarov had intended for Yuri to watch the airport terrorist attack from the sidelines—not for a good cause either. He wanted Yuri to watch his own Russian counterparts fall to bullets. He wanted Yuri to see those international travelers, families and friend groups, die horrible deaths. 
    Yuri fled upon receiving treatment and assistance. He disappeared off the face of the planet, avoiding Makarov and anything to do with Russia—his home—for months. Yuri went off the grid, healing and improving his skills the best he could. That's where Nikolai came along; the stubborn Russian pilot helped Yuri. 
    They had just worked out a mutual understanding when Yuri came across Price and a near-death Soap just shortly after the showdown with Shepherd. As Yuri built up a hatred for Makarov, a target over the terrorist's head, he had agreed with himself to do anything possible to get the job done and help his country in the process. 
    My bitterness toward the Russian I'd come to trust only grew upon realizing he had been partially using us. All his information on how Makarov would move, the plans he'd enact, and the rest...Yuri had personally known him. He shared some information yet made sure to keep just enough hidden to not destroy his identity. Yuri only continued to use the situation he was granted. 
    "You used us," Soap spoke before I could, coming back to reality from Yuri's narrative about Makarov, and gripped the sidearm pinpointed on Yuri tighter. 
    "At first that was true," Yuri's gaze strayed my direction, "but then I began to care. I began to have a—" 
    "No!" I stopped him, seething. "You do not get to use that word." 
    Comradeship. He didn't get to use it ever. It was a word he'd never known and likely never would. Yuri didn't deserve to. 
    "We don't have time for this now," Price gritted out, studying Yuri closely. "You've bought yourself time."
    "Not enough for me," I murmured, looking down at the face of the watch Roach had set in my palm moments before he died. "Or him."
    Price spoke before Soap could. "Let him up Soap."
    Soap reluctantly let the man stand up, moving back so that he didn't have to help. I still gripped my pistol, glowering at the man I'd grown to trust like a brother, even a comrade. No longer. 
    Any ounce of trust Yuri had earned from me was long gone.
    Yuri stood stiffly, his entire body shaken up from his roll down the stairs. His shoulders were stiff with the three pairs of glaring eyes locked to his stance. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, deciphering whether or not to say anything.
    Soap was fed up before anyone else, gruffly stashing his sidearm and righting himself. His rifle was back in his arms in moments as he pressed forward. He didn't flinch as thundering artillery shook the building further above.
    Price gave Yuri an extra glare as he moved after a steaming Soap. I continued to scowl at him in hatred, even as he turned. Yuri opened his mouth to speak then closed it once; a storm was at war with itself inside his lighter blue eyes.
    "Sam, I—"
    "You should've bled out that day."