"You're supposed to be dead..." Simon muttered before coughing up some blood. The red bodily fluid seeped through his balaclava.
"Well, I did say I wasn't in that tank," Graves said with a shrug and a chuckle. A little more than half of his face was burned, and he had a metal prosthetic right arm. His left hand had 3 prosthetic fingers.
"What do you want?" Ghost asked.
"What, no big words today?" The American grinned wickedly, before scowling. He grabbed the back of the chair and leaned it forward so Ghost was close to him. It was a bit of a struggle, let me tell you. "You've been a thorn in my side since Las Almas." Graves spat.
"I aim to please," the Brit chuckled before coughing again. His right eye had been swollen shut and he felt a pain in his chest. He probably had a few broken ribs. Graves had beaten him up.
Philip punched him square in the face, breaking his nose.
~~~
Soap made his way to where Ghost was. It turned out to be an old shed. He tip-toed beside it and pressed his ear against the outer wall to listen.
"I'm assuming your dog is on his way," Graves said.
"Riley's back on base..." Simon mumbled as blood trickled down his nose, staining his mask even more.
"I mean, your precious Sergeant."
"Price wouldn't let 'im..." the Brit coughed. "Why isnae Ghost fighting? It's unlike 'im," Soap thought. He then discreetly cocked his pistol, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and kicked open the door to the small shed. Philip grinned.
"Welcome to the party. Glad you could join us," he said. John's left eye twitched and he started to see red. After all the shit that went down, just for the prick to still be alive? Oh, Soap wasn't gonna let this fly.
"Johnny..." Simon gargled. Blood was filling his mouth. It was like he was being waterboarded with his own blood. The mask was becoming suffocating.
"You'll be fine, Ghost. I'll handle this," the Scot confidently said as he kept his gaze on Phil. He aimed his pistol right between the man's eyes. Graves just scoffed.
"What're you gonna do? Shoot me?" He asked. John pressed his finger against the trigger, and without a moment of hesitation, shot him between the eyes. Graves fell sideways to the floor, twitched, then went still. The remaining face was one of shock, like he didn't think Soap would actually shoot him.
"Cocky bastard," John said as he spat on the American's corpse. He shot a few more times, just to make sure he'd stay dead. Then he quickly went up to his superior, ripped off his mask and cupped his face in his hands. "Y'alright, luv?" He asked as he looked all over with his eyes.
"How do you say it? What you did was pure dead brilliant?" Simon asked with a weak smile.
"Your pronunciation is shite. M'gonnae have t' sink the link t' get yer slang better. Tha' was right piss."
"English, MacTavish."
"I said I'm gonna blow ye aff when we get back. Maybe that'll clear yer head." Soap said.
"That wasn't much better." Simon muttered. "Now, untie me. That's an order."
"I think I like ye tied up, sir."
"You're unbearable."
"I try."
