Thebadguyalways_
How loved does someone have to be for another person's love story to be about them?
How deeply would he have to matter for it to remain about him after his death?
If you asked Nemain Gallagher, she could tell you in precise, unsparing detail why this story is not about her - or about Lieutenant Simon Riley. It isn't even about Vladimir Makarov, no matter how much blood he spills trying to make it so.
The man at the center of it all was gone before the first chapter ever began - and yet nothing in this story exists without him.
John "Soap" MacTavish was loved deeply enough to become the axis everything turns on.
This is a story about grief, loyalty, and the choices made in the shadow of someone unforgettable.
It follows a man with a mask who loved him so fiercely that even now, everything is still about him.
The blood spilled in the name of vengeance.
The sweat burned chasing his ghost.
The tears shed for a man who will never see them fall.
His love will never be received by the man with the tasteless mohawk.
So what is left to do but redirect it?
To aim it elsewhere.
To give it to someone else, in another form.