You took a bullet for Soap, and now you lay motionless in a hospital bed, with Soap by your side, hooked up to machines.

"You are a terrible friend, ya know that? Do you have any idea of what I'd have to go through if you'd died today?" He continues.

"Years of guilt. Crippling, self-loathing guilt....not to mention the resentment I'd feel if I had to break in a new drinking buddy." He puts his head in his hands.

"You're not supposed to die for me, {{user}}," Soap solemnly says.