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Test Story only!!!
The night was cold, and a biting wind swept across the abandoned factory where Task Force Bravo set up their temporary outpost. John “Soap” MacTavish stood in the shadows, his eyes scanning the area, masking the inner turmoil and complexity behind his stoic expression. He had spent years with these men—Captain Price, Gaz, Wallcroft, Griffin, and the others—earning their trust, building bonds of brotherhood, all while hiding the darkest of secrets. His other identity, one that only a select few knew, weighed heavily on him. Among the Russians, he was not Soap, the loyal soldier. He was Vanguard, a spy deeply embedded within Task Force Bravo, loyal to Imran Zakhaev—his grandfather.
The faint sound of boots crunching on the frozen ground interrupted his thoughts. Soap turned to see Captain Price approaching, his iconic mustache and no-nonsense expression ever-present. The Captain motioned for him to join the others inside. Soap gave a curt nod, following without hesitation, blending in effortlessly. Years of deception had made it second nature.
Inside the command room, Price spread a map over the table, and Gaz leaned in close, studying the details. They were planning the next operation, a mission targeting one of Zakhaev’s remaining weapons caches. Soap kept his composure, memorizing every detail to relay later. He had been feeding Zakhaev information for years now, ever since he was placed within Task Force Bravo. The trust he had built with his teammates made it easy to pass off intel to his grandfather without suspicion. They had no idea they were being hunted from within.
“Soap,” Price called out, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’ve got a knack for reading enemy movements. What do you make of this?” He pointed to a section of the map.
Soap leaned in, careful not to appear too eager. “They’ll likely fortify this point here,” he said, tapping a strategic chokehold. “But they might leave an opening along the eastern ridge if we approach from the north. Could be a weak spot.” His analysis was sound, enough to ensure the operation would succeed but leaving just enough room for a small Russian counter-force to escape. It was a delicate balancing act, ensuring the trust of Bravo while still serving Zakhaev’s interests.
Price nodded, satisfied with the assessment. “Good. We’ll move at dawn.”
As the others dispersed to prepare, Soap slipped away into the shadows, finding a quiet corner where he could contact his Russian handlers. He was swift, careful, and meticulous. The encrypted message was short and precise, detailing Bravo’s movements, the planned attack, and the potential vulnerabilities that Zakhaev could exploit.
For as long as Soap could remember, Zakhaev had been his guiding force. After all, it was Zakhaev who had raised him. As a boy, John had been too young to remember his parents’ faces. He only remembered the cold, detached comfort of his grandfather’s presence. Zakhaev had shaped him, trained him, and molded him into the perfect spy. His 3/4th Russian blood ran deep, but the 1/4th Scottish in him made him the perfect candidate to infiltrate British military operations. It had taken years to establish himself, and the scars—both physical and emotional—were constant reminders of the sacrifices he had made to serve his grandfather.
As Soap quietly returned to his post, watching his so-called comrades prepare for the next mission, the weight of his double life pressed heavily on his shoulders. He had been loyal to Zakhaev for so long, but the men around him were more than just pawns—they were soldiers, brothers in arms, even friends. Price, in particular, had shown him a level of trust and respect that no one else ever had. It gnawed at him, the question of whether his loyalties were truly to Zakhaev or to the men he fought beside every day.
Morning came, and the operation was set in motion. Bravo Team moved with precision and force, hitting the target exactly as planned. Soap fought alongside them, his instincts sharp, every move calculated. They breached the weapons cache and cleared the area swiftly, but as Soap had anticipated, a small group of Zakhaev’s forces managed to slip away, thanks to the information he had leaked.
As they regrouped, Price gave Soap an approving nod. “Good work, MacTavish.”
Soap returned the nod, suppressing the guilt that churned in his gut. Price had no idea who he really was—who he was working for. The scars on his body, the years of loyalty he had shown to Bravo, all of it felt like a lie.
But as the days passed, Soap knew that his deception could not last forever. The others were getting closer to the truth, Gaz especially. There had been moments—small, subtle moments—where Gaz had caught Soap in a lie or questioned his unusual familiarity with Russian tactics. Wallcroft had even made a passing comment once, joking that Soap fought “like a bloody Russian.” It was only a matter of time before they would piece it all together.
One night, as the team was gathered around a fire after a particularly grueling mission, Gaz broke the silence. “You ever think about where your loyalties lie, Soap?” His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it.
Soap froze for a second, the question cutting deeper than it should have. “Loyal to the mission,” he replied, his voice steady, but his mind racing. Did they know? Had they figured it out?
Price looked up from cleaning his rifle, his gaze shifting between Soap and Gaz. “What are you getting at, Gaz?”
“Nothing, Captain,” Gaz said with a shrug, but the suspicion lingered in his eyes. “Just a thought.”
Soap excused himself, heading away from the camp, the tension too much to bear. He needed to think, to clear his mind. His double life was catching up to him, and soon, it would all unravel. He knew Zakhaev would not forgive failure, and if Bravo found out who he really was, there would be no coming back.
Later that night, Soap sent one final message to his grandfather: “It’s getting harder to keep up the act. They’re starting to suspect.”
Zakhaev’s reply was swift and chilling: “Then eliminate them before they eliminate you, Vanguard.”
Soap stood there, staring at the message, knowing that the time for choices had come. Would he stay loyal to his grandfather, the man who raised him, or to the men who had trusted him with their lives?
With dawn approaching, Soap prepared himself for the inevitable, knowing that his final mission with Bravo would be his hardest work yet. The moment of truth was near.