Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 - The Lost Chapters

"The Gulag"

"Five Years," John Price said to himself as he continued his daily routine. "I have been in the gulag five years."

"War is inevitable... if it ever even ended."

Price cycled through his memories yet again. "I was trained by Captain MacMillan."

"To our comrades who live and die on the battlefield. Sent in for those who can't protect themselves."

Price had started this routine three days after he arrived.

"I was top in my class. Best in hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship."

Price spent the first day assessing his imprisonment. The second day, he tried to make his escape. The attempt failed.

"Not every mission goes according to plan."

The men guarding Price doubled.

"My attempt upon Zakhaev's life failed. I was promoted to Captain and attained Mac's legacy."

Once the guards doubled, Price knew there was no chance at escape. He was left in a dark, empty cell. Once a day, he was given a small cup of water and half a piece of stale bread.

I can mourn the dead.

"We took down Zakhaev. Many good men, some of them friends, died."

I can't envy them. Not if I am to survive.

"Soap killed Zakhaev. The two of us survived."

Price relived his life every day. Assuring himself that he could distinguish fantasy from reality.

On day four, he started memorizing the guard shifts. He used them to track time. Every day he reminded himself of the date.

He would not forget. No! He could not forget those he sacrificed himself for.

"I was to be a leader of Task Force 141."

"The strongest are those who can stand back up after the world pushes them down."

The M1911 .45 Captain's pistol. It was his constant through all his recent memories.

Price used up the last of his strength to slide the pistol over to Soap, passing his weapon and legacy onto the younger soldier.

Price became content. He let go of ideas of escape. He spoke the same words every day. They kept him going. He would not delve into madness. He was content. He knew he had made the right choice.

The One-Four-One can do anything with Soap in command.

Makarov's promise to Price came true. Price was provided a small T.V. He saw the endless reels of the massacre at Zakhaev International. He saw Russia invade the United States. He saw World War Three begin.

BANG.

The entire prison shook.

Price was torn away from his daily exercises. He looked up as rubble fell from the ceiling.

Price didn't understand much Russian, but he knew that the guards were shouting. This could only mean that they were under attack. Why? If they were to attack anything, they should be going after the sub. That means... they don't know. I have to get out of here now.

The cell door slammed open and a guard ran in. Price allowed himself to be dragged out of the cell. He spotted a second guard on the ground. A large chunk of rubble lay across the dead soldier's chest.

Price's guard led him down to the lower levels of the prison.

Price paid no attention to how long they were running. He only tried to memorize the route.

All of a sudden, the gulag was coming down on top of them.

Shit! Price dove out of the way as large chunks of rock and stone rained down on him and his guard.

There was a large explosion overhead and it became hard to see. As the dust cleared, Price saw that his guard was staggering around, disoriented. Price searched the ground for a weapon and spotted a fallen chain.

As the wall to his left exploded inward, Price leaped forward, wrapping the long chain that connected each side of his cuffs around the guard's neck.

A uniformed soldier moved through the newly destroyed wall. Price used the Russian as a human shield. The new arrival fired once, killing Price's guard. As the soldier stopped firing, Price ran straight into him, his right fist colliding with the man's face.

Price grabbed his guard's fallen weapon and pointed it at soldier he had just sent to the ground. He was about to question his captive audience when he heard the hammer of a gun click into place behind his head.

"Drop it!" ordered someone behind him.

Price hesitated and glanced to the side, recognizing the voice. "Soap?"

The man behind him hesitated as well. "Price?"

After a moment of recognition, Price's old friend tossed the M1911 .45 to his other hand and extended the pistol's grip to its previous owner. "This belongs to you, sir."

Price was unsure what to do or say. He grabbed the pistol and placed it in his shredded jacket.

An explosion shook the prison overhead.

"Come on, we gotta get outta here!" Soap shouted. "Move! Move!"

The two men ran side-by-side toward the extraction point.