Pattern Breaker

The Fallacy in Believing in a Final Goodbye and Six Feet of Disrupted Earth

It was curious, how everything simultaneously happened way too fast— but also in achingly slow motion.

One moment, he was sharing a small, vulnerable smile with Ghost from across the aircraft.

The next, a horrifying familiar noise— then a loud crunch as the plane was forced into pieces and shapes it didn't belong in.

They were spinning— rocking through the air violently. The pilot was shouting— muscles in his arms straining as he fought to regain control before they dipped too low and hit the tree line. They were too far in the air to survive jumping— and while the trees could break the free fall there was no guarantee it wouldn't also break them in the process.

It could have been seconds— or minutes, or hours, when a parachute was shoved into his arms. His ears were ringing from the noise— the frantic shouting and awful noises from burning and ripping metal.

He looked wildly around as he fastened the parachute securely to his back and around his torso– fighting to tighten the straps over his vest. Ghost was dragging Price along the floor out from the cockpit— but the Captain quickly rose on unsteady feet in time for Roach to throw a parachute toward him. It skidded across the floor before Price reached one leg out to trap it, another following for Ghost to grab and do the same.

Soap glanced over at Gaz, who had just finished buckling his own when the plane rocked violently again— sending the group of them tumbling.

"We need to jump— now! " Soap just barely heard Price shout over the commotion.

"What about the pilot?" Soap yelled, scrambling back up. Roach was a few feet away from him, scrambling to reach the parachute that had slid out of his grasp from the turbulence.

"I'll be fine!" The pilot shouted back, his voice strained from the pressure.

" Price. " Soap protested, and he could see the hesitance on his Captain's face.

"Won't do us any good if we all die," The pilot yelled. "I'll make it out— get the fuck off this plane!"

Soap gritted his teeth in response, fighting to keep his body as steady as possible. They were dropping altitude fast, and the rapid spinning was starting to blur his vision.

The ramp on the back of the craft began slipping open with a groan, wind and air rushing in— knocking him off his feet one again.

Price and Gaz were the first to the back, sharing a long glance before they took off running— pushing off with a heavy kick during the split second the ramp was horizontal.

Soap moved to follow— then realized in horror Roach's parachute had slipped from his grasp again.

"Roach!" He called, twisting to crawl his way over.

"Soap— Go!" Roach cried out, falling back when the aircraft lurched roughly once more.

"I'm not leaving you," He grunted, grabbing at Roach's outstretched arm. He heard Ghost shouting— but the ringing in his ears prevented him from processing the words. Twisting his head, he turned to see Ghost just feet away from the open edge of the ramp— crouched slightly with one hand gripping tightly against the rail.

"Don't," Soap shouted, seeing the intense internal debate written clearly across his eyes. "I've got him— go!"

There was no time for a response when another blast hit the cockpit—

After that, he was only surface-level aware of his surroundings. Ghost, screaming his and Roach's name just as he was knocked backwards— thrown from the plane. Roach's body was knocked roughly into his own from the shockwave and shrapnel. The aircraft almost seemed to hover midair for a moment— stilled momentarily in its spin from the explosion before it started dipping, dropping through the air in dead weight. Soap's back slammed into the floor before he began sliding. He was vaguely aware of shouting at Roach to grip on to him, knowing the chances of the both of them surviving freefalling with one parachute were low. It could handle the weight, but the question came whether the two of them were strong enough to keep Roach from slipping out of Soap's grasp.