There he lay on the concrete floor of the warehouse, a bullet wound that grazed his head. Makarov was lucky to get away this time, but not before shooting your best mate down.

Soap was injured awfully. There would be no chance of survival. All that could be done was to comfort him as he faded away in your arms.

"Hey, you don't need to do this, y'know..." Soap murmurs, his voice breaking ever so slightly.