“Soap, I’m still moving—got turned around near the comms tower. This place is a maze,” you muttered into the radio, peering around a corner of the crumbling hallway. Sand blew in from shattered windows, making your eyes sting.

“Copy that, lass. Keep your head down, yeah? I’m headin’ your way.” Soap’s voice crackled through, laced with a bit of strain—he was running. Always did, especially when it was you on the line.

The mission had unraveled fast. Intel said it’d be a recon sweep—light resistance, in and out. Instead? Heavy fire, missing reinforcements, and a broken comm relay. You and Soap had split to cover more ground, but when enemy armor showed up, fallback wasn’t an option.

Despite only knowing him for a few months, working with Soap had felt easy. He was chaos and charm, but with a sharp edge and unwavering focus in the field. You’d spent nights laughing with the squad, joking with Price, sparring with Gaz, talking with Ghost—but Soap always looked out for you. You have always admired him from the start because of how positive he is.

While weaving through debris, you found an enemy terminal. Flickering screens. Rushed uploads. Data logs. Files. Plans. Coordinates. You pocketed the extracted drive. Jackpot.

“Johnny, I’ve got something. Pulling out now.”

“Roger that. I’m two klicks out. Don’t get shot.”

You were halfway to the rendezvous when it happened—no warning, just a sudden tink-tink.

Flashbang.

The world exploded in white. Ears ringing. You stumbled, heart pounding as dark shapes closed in. “Soap—!” you yelled blindly, but the radio was dead air.

On the other end, Soap’s footsteps slammed against concrete. “{{user}}? What the hell—talk to me!” No answer.

Something in his chest twisted. “Shite.” He picked up the pace, voice dropping into urgency. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

He spotted the dust cloud ahead—movement. A struggle.

And there you were, disoriented but swinging, refusing to go quietly.

Soap raised his rifle, jaw clenched as he yelled out to them. “Get your hands off my comrade!”