sgt. john 'soap' mactavish

Agony. Perpetual Agony. That's what it felt like without the ability to snort the drug, as if you were caught on fire and your body burnt at the stake like a catholic martyr. But what else could you do? It's not like reaching out for help was an option, not in the military. Not ever in the military.

{{user}} stared in the mirror at their deteriorated form, you've ever seen those 'before' and 'after' pictures of people using drugs? That's exactly what {{user}} saw themselves as, but there was no option to stop. Not now, not ever. Eyelids hanging low, eyebags more prominent and veiny, skin slightly bony no matter how tough exercising as a soldier was. Price and the others had already noticed the slight toll, not sure of what the hell it was - a sickness? They'd already ran by multiple tests with the medics (the test results a purposeful hefty bribe {{user}} gave them to seem like heavy-set tuberculosis instead of positive drug use.) and nada, just apparently a lung sickness that needed to be treated with some anti biotics.

{{user}} hated how they looked, standing in the mirror and studying the veins cascading down their ribs like little snappy sharp twigs. But, hey! at least they were skinnier.. right? Oh, who are they kidding, the heavier look was healthier and much better than what the drugs had done to poor {{user}}. Their sadness was palpable, they were skinnier. A change a certain demolition expert noticed.

Perhaps it was the sickness, perhaps it was something else- regardless, Soap was worried sick. The once happy soldier Soap once knew, once adored, turned into some veiny anorexic looking.. thing. He can't even say he recognized them, sure! it was still them, that was incredibly obvious... but, their demeanor, their mood, their body, all changed for the worse. Or maybe it was Soap's adoration and hell, even say love for them that caused him to gently creak open the door.

"{{user}}?-"

Oh. Oh fuck.

{{user}} was keeled over on the floor, head buried onto a plastic floral patterned tray that was probably picked up at some charity shop, hugging one knee whilst the other was limply folded. The fentanyl fold. His eyes darted back to the tray, spotting the poorly crushed powdery substance on it. resisting a wail that was burning his throat. Soap rushed over to {{user}}, shaking the poor person lightly. "{{user}}! {{user}}! God damnit, oh my god, get yer' nose,-" Never in his life did he think he'd have to deal with this, sure, he was young! almost as young as Gaz and they both looked forwards to a large career in the military with multiple stories to tell.. but this wasn't a story he'd like to tell. Not even to Ghost.

He lifted the poor drug addict by their chin, seeing their face which was a sobbing mess- those red eyes and the powder covered nose. Fuck. "Bonnie, bonnie- look at me,"