#cod hadir

It is a man, no longer human, left to rot by all forces on Earth. A man, who knew no peace from the day he cried his first tears, until he became entombed by metal. A man that cannot stand by his side, not here, because none see his heart, which may beat no longer, but still screams it is alive.

But Soap sees it, sees him, Ghost, Simon. In each memory that breaks free from his chained mind, each order disobeyed, each action driven only by his own emotions. There lies a man, that has no equal, in his eyes.

He does not take the privilege of seeing it lightly, not when he knows just how much Simon fights to be seen at all. It makes him want to be selfish, gather him close, lest unworthy gazes dare look upon him and think that he is no person, but a facsimile playing pretend.

It was clear to Soap, Gary is counted among those who don't understand what Simon is, neither human nor machine. His memories are not a past to him, but a puzzle, to be fit in a cold, objective timeline he constructed from the stories and rumours he has collected through the years.

To Gary, Simon is a riddle to be solved, a mystery to uncover. Soap finds it horribly disgraceful, to reduce him to such things.

As Simon recounted the recollection he saw to them, he told them of a man. Someone who sounded regrets, at his face, who dared say Simon is dead. Gary was intrigued, to say the least, finding yet another enigma hidden within Simon's skull, and Soap somewhat understood him. He too was excited by the prospect of finally finding Ghost's identity, giving him that last freedom.

But he only felt a white-hot anger constrain his lungs, a thirst for violence against a dead man rising up his throat.

How dare any imply that he who is living, fighting, screaming with all the air he has not in his lungs that he is still here, is dead?

A seedling of sacrilege sprouts in his breast, asking if the guiding hand of the Watchers is to be trusted, when it would have guided him to kill a soul like Simon's.

Soap is left to wonder, questions muddy the clarity he once thought can never be shaken, as Watcher Laswell speaks.

"We know you are angered, knights. The Aether takes, and cares not for how young, how innocent, the minds it steals are. Our squires shall be rewarded with eternal gratitude, for their sacrifice in the fight against evil." She passes her eyes over the Order's knights, her expression impossible to name as always. "Blessed be."

"Blessed be," Soap murmurs, voice melding with his siblings in blade and blood.

Watcher Hext hums, her eyes blind to their world but keen in finding the Aether's, "we heard your tales of Worms invading spaces they once never appeared in, the beasts chasing you from the Aether."

They were not the only one to be taken by surprise by a Worm…?

"We believe these happenings are tied to the numerous finds of Elder Sigils across the Orders," a shiver drags up Soap's arms at the mention of the accursed objects, "and the churning of the Aether tell us a sliver of their wretched plans."

She lowers her head, gaze following hidden patterns, "we must strike before the enemy can."

"We held talks with Watchers of all Orders, finding points at which the Aether is weak of hold." Watcher Waldroup says, his only remaining hand gesturing to give power to his words, "when called, each knight Captain will receive a quest taking place at one of those points. You are to be sent immediately, as time is not on our side."

One by one, squads are summoned forth to take on their quest, the Observing Hall thinning as more leave for the tear walls. Hot shame begins to burn Soap's nape as he realises merely a handful of squads are left in the Hall, and there is no sign of them being invited to accept a quest.

He knew from the moment he stepped foot in this Hall that not all Watchers approved of his presence here, but were they not called, it would not only mark them with dishonour.

It would mean the Watchers don't see them as proper knights, capable of such tasks. And the thought of that, to be deemed so feeble that he cannot stand even among the youngest of the Order, may very well be his worst fear.

He attempts to catch Gaz's eyes, see if the same fear reflects in him, but is met with the stiff profile of the knight.

Minutes pass slowly, his heart clenching into itself as they are left last in the Hall, still kneeling at the feet of their leaders.

"Sir Price," Watcher Waldroup says, and Soap has the urge to cover his ears, as if it would protect him from being sent away with empty hands. "Your squad was among those that encountered a Worm. I see none of your charges were injured."

"Only by the grace of God were we able to retreat safely," Price bows in respect.

Nodding in understanding, Watcher Waldroup continues, "we may not be in full agreement on the subject of the compatibility of your knights, but it is undeniable they have willpower few match."

Soap blinks a couple of times, taken off guard by the compliment.

"I trust they will withstand the lands of Urzikstan, then," he straightens, stern look pinning them down, "you are to meet an Urzik squad, who will inform you of their situation. As it was at the day of the invasion, Urzikstan sees the shifts of the Aether clearer than most."

"Understood." Captain Price answers, unfaltering under the weight of the Watcher's gaze.

"Hold your head high, knights. There is no sharper weapon than hope when evil encroaches." Watcher Arkwright smiles, "now go, prove humanity will not bow down to monsters."

"I don't understand-" Gaz turns around, checking his gauntlet again, "the tear was supposed to bring us right to the Lost Lands' edge!"

Soap kicks at a stray rock, enjoying the sound it makes as it drops into a shallow stream, "maybe yer gear is broken."

"It is not!"

"Boys." Captain Price sighs. "No matter the reason, we have legs and are able to walk. It should be less than an hour from here, so we best get to it."

Switching the dials on his gauntlet, Gaz huffs in frustration and gives up. "Must've been all the damned Aetherium in the Aether messing with the calibration…"

Raising his hands with a 'who knows' hum, Soap sidles to Ghost, bumping his shoulder. "Got any jokes to pass the time?"

Ghost takes a few seconds to reply, surely scanning his vast database for the worst joke possible. "Knock knock."

"Yer joking."

"I am, that's what you requested," the cheeky wee bastard says, "knock knock, Sir MacTavish."

Hiding his wide grin beneath his helm, Soap shakes his head outwardly, putting on an air of exasperation. "Fine, who's there?"

"Code."

"Code… Who?"

Ghost's stare lowers to meet his, "code you open the damn door already?"

Stopping in his tracks, Soap looks to the yellow skies, "God, why couldn't ye have given him a better sense of humour."

"You mean why code-n't you-"

Soap cuts him off, "if ye finish that sentence I'm gonna throttle ye."

Peeping up from behind them, Gaz laughs, "I have to side with Soap on this one, that was bloody awful mate."

He finally chuckles, turning to goad Ghost some more, when he sees three forms, shadowing the dead grass.

Ghost follows his gaze, sensors beeping as they scan the environment. "Non-Aether lifeforms detected, identified three knights."

"The Urzik squad shouldn't be here," Gaz says, staring off at the figures, who seem to notice them as well, as they begin stepping closer.

"They aren't Urzik." Ghost responds, and Soap's grip on his swords loosens as the air thins, and the colours of their banners reveal themselves.

The Red lion stares back at him, over a fierce yellow.

"Knights! You hail from the Scottish Order, correct?" Price calls once the squad is within earshot.

Soap stands frozen, his lungs emptying harshly, as the Scottish knights call in return, "aye! We weren't told we'd meet ye here!"

Fuck, just hearing that accent come from a mouth that isn't his own hurts like a punch to the face.

"We didn't either, but a friendly face is welcomed all the same" Gaz approaches their Aether specialist, but Soap can only look at the mechanic.

He knows this armour, the heavy chest plate fit under a thin blue cloak. Last saw it over a year ago, when his old squad had joined forces with another to take down a Greater Abomination. Remembers the way she would sit with Arran for long hours, pour over schematics that then made no sense to him, back when he was titled a combat specialist, his rightful role.

She stops in front of him, voice soft, "… Soap."

"Eilidh." His breath stutters, "it's… I'm glad ye are well."

They stare at each other for long seconds, Soap at a loss for words. What could he say, after all that happened? How could he show his face without shame, when he failed their Order-

Strong arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him down to a hug, "we missed ye-" Eilidh cries, "so much!"

trembling, Soap hesitates but a moment before returning the embrace, "how is everyone, has Morna…?"

Eilidh pulls away to stare at him, "Morna now trains the squires. It is… The best she can do, since… Ye know."

Since she lost her arm trying to escape certain death, Soap finishes her sentence in his thoughts.

"Aye… That's- good." Soap steps away from her touch, "I… Could ye tell her I'm sorry, fer what happened? I don't think I ever got the chance-"

Slapping his shoulder with the back of her hand, Eilidh retorted, "what nonsense are ye spittin' out now? Did ye forget she's only alive because of ye?!"

"She'd still be a knight Captain if it weren't fer me-"

"Stop that!" She shakes his shoulders, forceful like every aspect of Eilidh, "since when are ye so full of doubt, lyin' to yerself about the past?"

Soap would've preferred she slapped him, that would hurt less than those words.

In her mind lives a version of him that doesn't exist anymore, one that died with Arran that horrible day in the Aether, consumed by mouths of zombie and Worm. What remains of him is chipped at every night, Aetherium creeping up his nerves like choking vines.

The Soap she knows wouldn't have such doubts, about himself, about the Orders. That Soap smiled with sincerity, joked with true mirth, found kinship and friends with every knight he met. That him that belongs only to dirt now would step with no fear, his legs able to bear his weight, his arms the burden.

That knight is no more alive than any undead they slay here in the Lost Lands, forsaken.

Were it anyone else, he'd put on the mask, his thin attempt at reviving the Soap that was. But Eilidh, who knew the real performance, won't be fooled.

"I rather not speak of that." He mutters bitterly. "What are ye doing in Urzikstan?"

If Eilidh notices his awkward try at changing the subject, she has the courtesy to ignore it, "we sent to meet an Urzik squad around 'ere, got some rift to explore."

He hates the shiver that passes through him, "we were supposed to drop farther south, meet an Urzik squad as well."

"God had chosen for our paths to cross, it seems," he hears a smile in her voice, "I suspect yer clearin' the path for us."

"Aye, the centre of the storm is a way off-" The words die on his tongue, a warmth encompassing his back. He looks up, finding Ghost peering over him.

"Sir MacTavish. Captain Price has ordered us to move." He says flatly, not sparing a look towards Eilidh, who is clearly intrigued by him. What mechanic wouldn't be, when he's such a marvel of engineering, steel plates sliding seamlessly with each other to build a body so flawless, so unerring-

Eilidh whistles, "I only heard rumours about him, but he's real bonnie up close huh?"

Bonnie? She's calling him bonnie of all things? And what's with that reverent tone in her voice, the unmoving gaze pinning Ghost?

She reaches out to touch Ghost, mumbling under her breath, "good God, that must've taken ages to build, look at those joints-" And Soap had enough.

Grabbing Ghost's arm, he drags both of them away, hoping the grit of his teeth isn't heard as he says, "it's been good teh see ye, Eilidh! May our paths meet once more!"

As dirt crunches beneath their boots, his flash of anger dies down as fast as it sparked. What the fuck is his problem? Eilidh wasn't doing anything to Ghost, and he has the ability to disobey her order since she isn't in a position to command him.

Why does the thought of her fingers grazing his metal plates irk him, then?

He shakes his head, letting go of Ghost, who simply stares at him with that picking gaze, sure to examine each and every move of his. Avoiding what is sure to be a conversation as pleasant as pulling teeth, Soap approaches Price, who is speaking with the Scottish Captain.

"-Terrible fate, they had." Price mutters, "but knowing her, she would've preferred it to end like this."

The Scottish Captain tsks in disagreement, "ye know exactly what she would've preferred. If ye don't keep him safe, I swear-"

"Captain. We're ready to move." Soap nods to the other Captain, who simply sighs.

Patting Price's shoulder, the Scottish Captain leans in to whisper his parting words, walking off to collect his knights. Whatever he said leaves Price deflated, a hitch to his breath.

"Captain?" Soap repeats, snapping him from his unusual lowered spirit.

Price clears his throat, nodding, "of course. Let us return to the task at hand."

The lands that were first touched by Aether on the day of the invasion suffered most, trapped in an endless state of chaos decades later. The knights of such places rarely leave their own territories, unable to do much more than protect their people from the monsters knocking on their walls.

But make no mistake, those warriors are forged of different kind of metal, their fight glorious in its own right.

The moment their squad steps into Urzikstan's inner border, Soap could feel the air shift in his lungs. He knew, since they were given the quest, he'd have to prepare for all sorts of enemies. With every pouch on his armour vest full, every spare pocket brimming with explosive powders and electrical bombs, he's ready for an army of evil.

He almost dares to think he overestimated the level of threat they'll face, but it takes startlingly short for them to see the first Abomination.

"Is that…" Gaz points ahead, "bloody Hell, that's a Greater Abomination."

Soap scoffs, looking at the biped beast run through a dilapidated city, "haud yer wheesht, there's no way there's a Greater this far from a storm, that has to be a Lesser Abomination."

"Lessers don't have Aetherium crystals attached to their shoulders!" Gaz retorts, and Soap throws his hands in the air.

"Well Greaters are bigger than this one!" It's hard to tell its size from here, he concedes privately, but that's irrelevant.

Gaz huffs, "you got a better argument than 'it's small?'"

"I-!" Soap scrambles to find another point to his claim, coming up dry. "I… do not!"

That clearly catches Gaz off-guard, as he lets out an incredulous chuckle. "At least you admit it."

"Boys," Price groans, "focus on the task at hand, please."

Soap smiles at the exasperation in his voice, sobering as the Greater Abomination rushes around a building, roaring loud enough for them to hear from their vantage point. "What is it doing? Shouldn't we go down there and help-"

A loud static fills his helm, Gaz and Price flinching with him. Through the buzzing, he thinks he can make words-

"All squads— Attacking from east— Malika, now!"

Light bursts from the foundations of the building the Abomination has been circling, purple and blue and brilliant red striking the monster. It shoots at the knights, but they manage to evade, a different squad emerging from the shadows to attack.

The beast is funnelled through ruins, tearing down any obstacle in its path. Soap can now see the forms of knights hiding in every building, each cutting at the Abomination, confusing it.

It reminds him of the colonies of ants he'd watch as a young page, carrying bugs 10 times their size to their homes. Each weak enough to squash with a fingertip, but together strong enough to kill even the cruellest of beetles.

Soap marvels at the flawless coordination of the Urzik squads, their knowledge of how to play the biggest monster the Lost Lands know to contain. It twists and turns, charging with no reason, lost in the craving of blood, running closer and closer to… Them.

Ghost is the first to move, drawing his blades and rushing forward, "requesting permission to engage in combat."

The Greater Abomination crashes into the building in front of them, concrete chunks dashing against the road below. Price unfolds his shield, stepping back, "denied! We're retreating, Gaz, Soap, you're up front, Ghost and me at the rear-!"

Footsteps echo from the floor above them, and Soap wildly thinks a damn zombie snuck up on them, readying his swords, when three figures jump down.

The figures, all knights, appear to be as taken off guard as they are, but the thundering shrieks of monsters call for their attention. "British knights…" The knight in the middle murmurs, "we were supposed to meet you by the walls, but the storm advanced faster than we foresaw."

"It's no matter," Captain Price nods, "we're here to aid you in every fight."

She switches the grip on her long knife, a curved sword in her other hand, "of course. Are your field talents armed?"

Soap flicks his eyes to the edge of his helm's display, the gauge of his still at halfway. At their silence, the Urzik Captain says, "they'll will charge quickly enough."

The building shakes, a loud rumble emanating ominously from under them. The Abomination collides with the wall in full force, Soap stumbling as the floor cracks beneath him. Ghost catches his bicep, pulling him to his chest.

"What are you planning exactly?!" Gaz exclaims, arms flailing as he tries to maintain balance.

The knight to her left answers, his gauntlet-clad hand marking his as an Aether specialist, "we will give the wretched beast a warm welcome, from above."

"Urzikstan has only one sort of answer to such evil," the third knight says, a grin in his voice and an accent not unlike Watcher Laswell's.

Metal creaks as claws dig into the guts of the structure, the gurgling screams of the Abomination reaching ever closer. The Urzik squads on ground are rushing to them, but they'll never reach in time.

"In clearer terms?!" Soap shouts, every thump echoing through his ribcage.

The Urzik Captain steps to the edge, "we're attacking, until nothing remains."

And in a gut-dropping display, jumps.

SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS RUNNING… NO ERRORS FOUND

AETHERIUM INHIBITOR STATUS: NORMAL

CURRENT LOCATION: 43°39′09″N 51°09′27″E

CURRENT OBJECTIVE: ELIMINATE HOSTILE TAGGED "GREATER ABOMINATION"

"Get after them, down!" The Captain calls, and their squad runs to the end of the floor, leaping to his command.

The ground beneath his feet stolen by air, gravity pulls at his still-human organs like a hook, Ghost stutters as fear flashes through his limbs until his system recovers.

Scanning for weak points, his HUD marks the Abomination's malformed eyes. He throws his blades at them, their violet trails a path of blood striking into the monster.

Johnny falls beside him, twisting gracefully in the air to aim his swords downwards, kicking off the building to gain more momentum. He reaches the Abomination first, and once his weapons dig into the pale pink flesh, he redirects his momentum with a flip, dragging the blades down through the beast's back.

Ghost can't help but save that recording, the precision in his moves a glimpse to his days as a combat specialist.

He and Gaz land at the same time, finding themselves at opposite sides of one of the many maws of the Abomination. The Aether specialist uses his long halberd to spear the mouth's roof, Ghost taking hold of one of the larger fangs, sawing at it with one of his knives.

"What are you doing-?!" Gaz yells, until the tooth detaches.

Ghost uses both hands to stab it into the Abomination's head, stomping it with all the mechanical force in his body to drive it down. Gaz laughs, surprise colouring his voice, as howls fill the air.

Light rises up to the surface, Aetherium bubbling from the wound, and Gaz narrowly dodges a claw swiping for his head. "Abomination's about to shoot, take cover!" He warns, piercing the monster's side to hang away from the mouths.

Ducking out at the last second, Ghost's system frazzles as a beam of pure Aetherium hits the building, glass and concrete shattering around them. He forces himself to refocus, tracking the movements of the Urzik Captain.

She weaves between the crystals growing from the Abomination's back, fluid as her blades drag through the purple fog. Her team covers her flanks, and with a coordinated attack, slams into the centre of the beast.

Blackened blood sprays them, but their weapons heed no warning, digging and digging until they tear a wide gash in the sickly flesh.

Ghost joins them, throwing his knives deep and circling to the other side, calling them into his hand. They act as bullets, ripping straight through muscles and bone.

"Keep doing that, it's working!" Soap shouts, dropping beside him to slice at the newly formed holes. Captain Price and Gaz follow soon after, the British squad at full force. Aetherium-tinted blood drips down their blades, filling their field talents, and their opportunity to be deployed comes before long.

Rumbling bellows under their hands, Ghost's system alerts him that the Aetherium levels in the air are rising, the crystals at the Abomination's back growing impossibly.

As he keeps an eye on the calculations his system is running in the background, Ghost finds that while his database may include all known types of enemies the Aether can create and their weak points, it can't compare to the act of fighting.

He could study the theory for weeks, plan optimal methods of combat, but the field never presents the same image.

A route draws itself on his HUD, instructing him to change position to the head, use the openings presented by the many maws of the creature to strike at its central nervous system, and sever it to neutralise the hostile.

That would leave his squad exposed to whatever the Abomination is gearing up towards, though, but his system doesn't care. His primary objective determines that the faster the monster is killed, the faster the squad will be safe, and the better he could keep them covered, once the biggest threat is eliminated.

But knowing that he both can't predict what the Abomination will do next, and how it will affect Gaz and Soap who are both susceptible to different types of attacks, makes him reconsider.

Ghost ignores his system, stabbing his knives to climb up the gory stomach, peering over to scan.

Price calls to him from below, "what are you seeing, Ghost?!"

SCANNING… Aetherium saturation reaching critical levels… Damage to target estimated at 34%… Multiple Aether forms detected…

The Abomination's back twitches and churns, Ghost tracking the movements beneath the surface with growing interest. It almost seems like…

All at once, arms claw their way out of the flesh, like flies from carcasses left to rot, heaving themselves up with high-pitched wails. It takes him a few breaths to understand what he's looking at, and that is all the time it takes for those fetid creatures to lock their gazes onto them.

Wretchlings. Super-charged zombies with one purpose - get close enough to explode into an Aetherium-electrical burst.

Ghost barely leans away before the first reach him, the undead detonating as it falls. "Wretchlings identified, attack imminent!" He informs his squad, who all gasp and curse.

The likelihood they'll be able to fight both a Greater Abomination and a horde of corpses chomping at the bit to gain the opportunity to go off beside them is reaching for 0%, and even Ghost's system is at a loss for what he can do to change that.

His answer comes from Soap, who climbs up to stand beside him, kicking a wretchling that dared reach too close. "Captain, my field talent is ready, permission to activate?!"

"Negative!" Price instantly answers, "get back here, we'll find another way!"

Johnny growls, cutting off a head of an enemy with a violent arc, "there is no other fuckin' way!"

Before the Captain can protest further, the Abomination shifts beneath their feet, shaking its giant, malformed body, attempting to throw them off. Soap's left leg buckles, and he yelps as he's left hanging from a single sword stabbed in the target.

Ghost pulls him up, stretching his arm to hold him near, making sure the Captain and Gaz are also secure. The Urzik knights fare far worse.

They are helpless as they watch the Urzik Captain get thrown into the air, her limbs flailing wildly. If she falls to the ground from that height, not even a knight's armour could save her.

But then, she calls over comms.

"Activating Lightning Storm!"

Electricity shooting from her blades, she spins to aim straight to the Abomination's back, the epicentre of the Wretchlings. Her field talent hits all of the knights, using their armour to conduct down, creating a net to trap their enemies in.

As the lighting strikes the Wretchlings, they explode, cratering the Abomination's flesh.

The Urzik Captain screams as she drops onto the beast, and with a final discharge, stab through the wounded monster, stilling it once and for all.

With a grunt, she pulls out her bloodied weapons, turning to stare at Johnny and him, "are you injured?" She asks, flinging her blades to remove some of the thick blood.

"Fine," he answers, a laugh bubbling up his throat, "ye beat me to the field talent."

She offers a hand to them, pulling Soap up to his feet. The rest of the Urzik squad joins them, as well as Gaz and the Captain. "I"m sure you will have many chances to use yours here," she answers, sheathing her sword and knife.

"My name is knight Captain Dame Farah Karim," she nods to the knight on her right, "this is my Aether specialist, Sir Hadir Karim, and my mechanic, Sir Alex Keller. We are grateful for your aid."

Ghost took upon himself to keep watch as the squads introduce themselves, knowing he isn't needed for pleasantries. He distantly listens to Captain Karim and Captain Price as they recognise each other from an earlier quest, instead scanning the remains of the Abomination.

By the rough estimations his system is presenting to him, there must've been over 100 zombies' worth of muscle and bone interlaced within that wretched body. That count does not include all the Wretchlings that crawled inside, finding home where they could protect the vast Aetherium deposits that stand in for the heart and lungs of the monster.

Each and every one of them was a human, at some point. Like him, he supposed.

"What are ye doing here all by yerself?"

"Cloud watching. That one looks like you," Ghost jokes, pointing to a abstract-shaped cloud that passes by them through the red skies. Johnny snorts, coming to a stop beside him.

He motions to a larger cloud behind the first, "that must be you then, giant fucker that ye are."

They continue staring up, far-off sounds of fighting the only crack in their peaceful bubble. Ghost discretely scans him, checking that his knee is still well, when he finally meets his gaze.

"Thank ye. For helpin' me back then."

Ghost answers easily, thinking he's speaking of the recent battle, "I would never let you fall."

Soap huffs, a smile curling his words pleasantly, "aye, that too. but I meant when we met, and every time since. Just realised I never really thanked ye."

It stumps his system for a moment, and eventually Johnny nudges him with a shoulder, nearly butting heads, "don't have to say anything, but I wanted ye to know."

As if his insides have been pumped with helium, Ghost feels lightness spread through him, desperately wishing to see Soap's face at this moment, bask in his bright smile.

It hurts, for a reason he can't understand, how much he wants.

"… Thank you." Ghost says, knowing full well it doesn't encompass his feelings in the slightest.

He decides to mimic Johnny, using touch to convey what he cannot say, and raises a hand to wrap around Soap's nape. Ghost almost retreats when the reaction he receives is a little jolt and a gasp, but the muscles under his fingers melt, and press against him with a sigh.

Oddly enough, his system notifies him Soap's breathing and heart rate are elevated. He wonders if he may have read the motion wrong, that it is unwanted and unsettles him.

He isn't able to wonder for long, when a sudden flash blinds him, the ground shaking with such force it brings him to his knees, and he loses his contact with Johnny.

System overloaded, sensors fried with light, he draws his blades at the sounds of a song of shrieks, those which herald nothing but evil.

"Soap!" He shouts, uncaring for whoever may listen beside one, "where are you?!"

ALERT: MULTIPLE AETHER FORMS DETECTED

The choir grows ever louder, roars of beasts ten times his size making the air itself cower before them, Ghost growls, banging his temple until his vision restores, and he freezes at the sight.

Ground splintering before claw and fang, a crowd of disciples directing their armies to them with no mercy, the Urzik knights yelling as they're torn apart, not methodically with the ruthlessness of a butcher, but with the uncaring impact of an avalanche. A force of nature none can plead with.

But that is not what planted his feet in the dirt, no, because Ghost knows how to face such powers, war a familiar song, death etched in his bones.

That does not scare him. Losing, losing does.

He turns, shuddering, searching for Johnny. The place he stood at not moments ago is gone, a steep slope chiselled out into the road instead. Through the shock he hears Price bellow, call for Gaz, and receive no answer.

They're gone.

AETHERIUM INHIBITOR STATUS: CAUTION

His system screams at him to move, charge the incoming horde before it reaches them, keep them away from the knights, but he can't. He won't. He needs to find them.

ERROR: OBJECTIVE SET CONFLICTS WITH PRIMARY OBJECTIVE

SCANNING… ERROR 126 FOUND TO CAUSE AETHERIUM INHIBITOR MALFUNCTION

FIXING ERROR 126…

Ghost jolts as his legs move without his say-so. His system forces him to walk away from the chasm Johnny and Gaz fell into, making him obey.

Growls rising from his mouth, he fights himself, screaming trapped within his mind that he won't obey.

One step, another, and with a final snarl, he stops his own legs from moving. Shaking, he commends his system to shut down.

That would be his last mistake.

AETHERIUM INHIBITOR STATUS: CRITICAL

The world, his conscious, any memory of the knights and Gaz and Johnny, all snap and break away from his mind.

Simon falls silent.

The only voice that remains is the gurgling breaking free from his throat.

Excerpt from John "Soap" MacTavish's journal, page 106 ("GREATER ABOMINATION"):

Fig 1 & 2

Fig 3 & 4 hadir (left) farah (right)

Fig 5 & 6

Fig 7 & 8 (did I mention Hadir’s actor is really pretty-)

Hadir Ahmed Karim

Combat Lieutenant, Urzikstan Liberation Force (ULF)

Hadir is a fighter in the Urzikstan Liberation Force, serving as a combat Lieutenant,reporting directly to his older sister, Farah. Together, they fight to protect, rescueand free their country from Russian occupation. Hadir’s father was a professor,his mother, a civil servant for her district in Urzikstan, both respected in theirmiddle class community. Like his parents, Hadir has always sought to makesomething of himself, but grew up in an uncivil world of war-torn streets and death around every corner.

Hadir’s life changed irreparably whenGeneral Barkov’s rogue army rolled into Urzikstan and in a matter of minutes, imposed theirwill, blanketing his hometown with ordnance and poison gas. One minute, Hadir wasdoing homework and the next, he was trying to escape rifles, gas bombsand capture. Too young, small and scared, Hadir has alwaysbeen haunted by guilt over his inability to render more aide. With thehelp of his sister Farah, they attempted to escape, but were both apprehended and taken to a prison camp.  

Losing his family, his home and his innocence, like many in his generation, he and his sister Farah grew up in prison without guidance, education or moral instruction. These events fomented a violent and aggressive streak. For Hadir, warplanes, enemy tanks and checkpoints were a normal part of his daily life. After helping his sister lead a rebellion to break free from Barkov’s POW camp, he became a prominent figure and an influence on emerging combatants. Here, he shaped his personality and reputation as a hostile, cunning guerilla fighter. Because he was there when the shelling started, Hadir is viewed as someone to be trusted by his community and beyond.

Left an angry and restless soul with the heart of a warrior, Hadir learned to keep his cards, feelings and plans to himself. Secretive, not through deviousness, but because he had to be to survive. Farah and Hadir see eye to eye on their ultimate goal – to liberate their people – but don’t always align on tactics or strategy. Today, Hadir is Farah’s lieutenant, but differs with his sister philosophically when it comes to battle.