Chapter Text
The next floor- 29, as Kletka’s screen helpfully provided- had potential for a Samosbor appearance. Soap shifted from foot to foot just before exiting the relative safety of Kletka.
“Gotta be careful,” Soap muttered to Ghost, who was watching Soap with an indifferent glare.
“Ain’t my first rodeo.”
“Mine neither, but it was a close call last time ‘round. Why don’t we skip to the next level?”
Ghost let out one of his iconic little huffs, this one almost certainly bleeding with annoyance. “Scanner says there’s two gas canisters and one upgrade. We’re in desperate need of both, in case you forgot.”
“Right,” Soap replied, and buried the urge to hightail it out of there.
“If you die, I’ll just bring you back,” Ghost said nonchalantly.
Soap eyed him warily for a moment before deciding it wasn’t worth whatever conversation that topic required. He took a deep, steadying breath and stepped into the Gigastructure.
It almost surprised Soap how well he seemed to synergise with Ghost. Two blokes meant twice as much ground got covered twice as fast. Soap booked it, dodging traps and obstacles like it was second nature at this point, and despite his hulking size, Ghost weaved his way through the halls like a serpent through grass.
They had a half-decent haul by the time the rumbling started- much more than Soap would have been able to handle on his own- and the two spared each other a single glance before bolting back towards Kletka.
Their return trip home was a little less elegant than their entrance, nearly trampling one another in their haste, but they managed to make it back to safety before the alarms even had a chance to start blaring.
Soap took a moment to catch his breath as Ghost yanked the lever down and began the descent.
Floor 30. Inexplicably, a shop of all things greeted them. Gigantic globs of red, wet flesh coated the walls and ceiling. Soap elected to ignore it. The store seemed entirely unmanned, but something about the atmosphere of the place told Soap that he shouldn’t attempt any of the thievery he had grown skilled at.
“How many bottles you got?” Ghost asked.
“Looks like I got 43 stashed away.”
“Hm. Not bad. Buy the gas can and the wrench, and I’ll buy the med kit.”
“Way to clear me out, Ghost. What if I need these bottles in a pinch?”
“You’re either spending it here or on a Live Beer to revive me, but buying this junk will make it less likely for that to happen. Shut your gob and pay up.”
“I don’t know what a Live Beer is,” Soap groaned back. “How the fuck is a beer supposed to revive either of us, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Ghost growled, his words slow and clumsy as always. “I don’t know how half the shite in this place works. I just know that it does. You have two functioning eyes and at least half of your cerebral cortex, right? You must’ve seen the vending machines littered all over the place.” Soap had, in fact, seen them. Their bright green glow was damn near hypnotic. “If one of us croaks, just pop in twenty-something bottles and you pop out of the machine, good as new. But if both of us bite it,” he says, and Soap can imagine his eyebrows raising for emphasis, “we’re both fucked. For good.”
Soap stared at Ghost slack-jawed behind his mask. “How did you figure that out?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ghost replied, clipped and short. He gestured wordlessly towards the objects on the counter, seemingly having exceeded his spoken word limit for the time being.
“Fine,” Soap sighed, and shuffled to retrieve his bottles from Kletka. He shoved them into a receptacle on the counter and snatched up his goods.
Ghost followed suit, retrieving his own bottles from his bag- a measly 15 versus the 30 that Soap had just dropped- and followed Soap back onto Kletka.
Floor 31. Samosbor - Passed. The two took a more leisurely approach this time around, splitting apart to cover more ground. Soap found two cans of food and a med kit that he stashed away in his pack.
He had cleared all of the rooms in his half of the floor when he heard the unmistakable sound of a struggle.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and took off towards the source of the sound. He dashed through the hallways, ducking through a few doorways. The sounds grew louder, slightly more laboured, and Soap froze in shock at the sight of the bloodbath.
Three Gretchins and one mushroom man had been absolutely pulverised into a fine paste, their skulls caved in and entrails strewn across the floor.
Ghost stood above them, his shoulders minutely heaving with his ragged breaths, and for a moment, Soap could only stand and stare. He willed down the unexpected flare of excitement deep in his gut.
“You alright?” Soap asked, in English this time, forgetting to speak Russian.
“‘M fine,” Ghost replied, his words drenched in an English accent. “They’re the ones you should be worried about,” he said, and nudged the toe of his boot into the mangled corpse at his feet.
Soap let out a breathless laugh. “Not much left to worry about. Anyway, can’t blame you for havin’ a little fun. I’ve partaken a time or two, I’ll admit. They’re annoying little fuckers.”
Ghost huffed, and for the first time, it sounded a little more like amusement than irritation.
Safely back inside Kletka, who had happily gobbled up the monster meat Ghost offered her, the two took a moment to relax. Soap dropped to the floor with a tired groan and toyed with the canned food he had pilfered.
“You hungry?” Soap asked, and shook one of the cans enticingly in Ghost’s direction. “I’m downright starving.”
Ghost grumbled some incomprehensible British nonsense and slumped next to Soap on the floor.
“I could eat,” he replied with a shrug.
“Aye, I’m sure you could. Sustaining yourself on rats and beer surely isn’t enough to maintain those muscles of yours.”
“Hm. You’d be correct. Mostly comes from the slaughtering of monsters and cannibalism, though.”
“I’m just gonna tell myself that was a sorry excuse for a joke,” Soap replied after a beat and slid a can over to Ghost.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Soap suppressed a shiver and yanked his gas mask off of his head. He rubbed a hand across his face, slightly unused to the sensation of not-so-fresh air on his bare skin. He hardly paid Ghost any mind and barely noticed the intense staring Ghost sent his way.
After he had scarfed down whatever mystery meat was in the can, he spared Ghost a sidelong glance. “You gonna eat or what?” Soap asked, finally noticing the way Ghost was still as a statue.
“Turn around,” Ghost replied. “If you look, I’ll kill you before you even recognise what you’ve seen.”
“Roger that,” Soap said, unbothered, and shuffled to face the wall. He tugged his gas mask back on; he wasn’t even really sure why, there didn’t seem to be much practical reason for it- but he couldn’t say he minded the added pressure on his face at all times. There was something oddly comforting about it.
Finally, after Ghost appeared to be confident that Soap wouldn’t peek, the sound of Ghost’s own mask hitting the floor rang out in the cramped confines of Kletka. The can cracking open came next, and then the half-rabid sound of Ghost scarfing down his food followed.
A few beats of silence passed and neither of them moved.
“You know the worst part about my sentence?” Ghost asked after a moment. “Kletka, I can handle. The monsters sure as shite don’t bother me. But bein’ stuck in here with a Scot? That’s cruel and unusual punishment, worse than even I deserve.”
Soap let out an impolite snort, his sides shaking with the impact of his laughter.
Unable to hold back, he laughed, full-chested and loud as hell, truly letting loose for the first time in years.
“Away and bile yer heid, Ghost. Ye haven’t seen anythin’ yet. Just hold yer horses ‘til I get my hands on a bottle o’ cratur.”
A few more silent seconds ticked by. Soap could hardly contain himself.
“Was that even English?” Ghost eventually mumbled back, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Aye, surely it was, mate. Can you do us a favour and stick your mask back on before I turn around by mistake? I’d hate to cut our little romp through the structure together short.”
Ghost paused and Soap could hear him shuffle around, once again fully covered.
What Soap hadn’t seen, obediently turned away as he was, was Ghost’s shoulders shaking in barely contained mirth.