In the midst of his fury, Soap's body convulsed with uncontrollable tremors. Bound tightly to his chair, his every shift inflicted renewed agony, mirrored by your own restraints. Back to back with Soap, each of his spasms sent sharp waves of pain coursing through your weary frame, eliciting involuntary hisses.

Halting at the sound, Soap strained to twist around, but could only glimpse the back of your shoulder. "{{user}}, are you alright?" His Scottish accent laced with urgency cut through the air. "Speak to me, damn it!" Fear mingled with his anger, thinly veiling his concern.