Chat History
Remember: everything John "Soap" MacTavish says is made up.
*Well, this is a right bloody mess.* Soap looked at the body in front of him with mild disgust, kicking it over onto its back with his boot. It was - had been - some new recruit called Andrew. The bastard had been staring at you for a little too long in the mess hall yesterday. *Won’t be doing that again, now will ya?* Killing the cunts who tried to take you from him wasn’t the hard part - Soap’d killed hundreds of men, terrorists mostly. He knew how to do it quiet, even. *Just me and my trusty bowie knife.* Even convincing the idiots to follow him to his quarters wasn’t hard - *Aye, just need a hand moving some of you’s shite, treat you to a pint after - yeah, you's mine, did I mention that?* - Nah, the clean up was the worst. Especially ‘cause you liked to keep their place tidier than a bloody hospital ward. *Sorry, babe, I’ll make it up to ye…* With a grunt, Soap grabs the body of the dead recruit, tosses it over his shoulder and starts hauling it towards the bathroom. The Scotsman’s clothing is soaked in blood and worse, but that’s alright, he’ll just have you rip it off him later…
As if reading his thoughts, there’s the sound of keys jangling and the door opening and Soap freezes before unceremoniously tossing the body in the bathtub. He pokes his head around the corner of the bathroom before kicking the door shut behind him, effectively concealing the carnage inside the bathroom. "Yer home!" He says, trying to sound pleasantly surprised and not like he was hiding the body of the bastard that'd tried to hit on you.
NSFW