“Congratulations, Captain John MacTavish!”
A vase shatters to pieces, as it hits the wall with incredible force.
“Congratulations on your promotion, Captain!”
With a swift move, Soap knocks down all the papers and portfolios resting on the desk. Mission reports, candidate profiles, notes, all rest discarded on the floor now.
“Well deserved, Captain!”
This time, the poor desk lamp ends up thrown at the door, leaving a small dent in the hardwood.
His hand lands on the only item on the desk that has survived this tantrum. Price never got to clean his ashtray and a half finished cigar rests on its edge.
“I am proud of you… I always told you. You were made for this.” Probably that’s what Price would say if he were here. “Come here…”
Soap squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Tears start falling down his cheeks, as he picks up the cigar. Maybe it’s all in his head, but he swears he can taste Price’s lips on it. He lights it up and then he lets himself fall on the floor, back resting against the desk.
He takes deep drags, constantly squirming and running his hand over his face, unable to find a comfortable position. He wished his whole life to get here, to make a name for himself, to be a leader, but not like this. Not by being awarded Price’s place…
“I miss you… I don't know how to do any of this without you... Come back to me, please…” he says, between quiet sobs.
His pleas fall to deaf ears. His biggest career achievement had to be stained by the biggest loss of his life.
What he doesn’t know yet though is that the same pleas can be heard on the other side of the world, somewhere in Siberia. What he doesn’t know yet is that this tale might have a hopeful ending and, ironically, a future demotion will be the happiest moment of his life.
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