A wave of pure dismay floods your senses as you watch Soap go slack onto the ground. Immediately, you cry out, wanting nothing more than to lunge over to your teammate and save him.

Price doesn't take long in putting Makarov on the floor, shouting threats and curses down at the Russian terrorist.

In shock, you grab for Soap's arm, checking his pulse.

"Steamin' Jesus," he rasps, eyes fluttering for a moment. Blood trickles over his skin. "I'm okay."