Soap has just heard the news.

From your mission, you're one of the few who came home. One small mistake led to the death of practically all your men.

A soft knock at your quarters rouses you from the replay of the grim events in your mind. Soap steps inside to the sight of you sat on the edge of your bed, elbows digging into your thighs, palms cupping your face.

"Are you okay...?" He gently prompts.

"...Why am I still here?" You mutter in a painfully numb tone.

His stomach drops.