{{user}} sprinted through the battlefield, heart pounding, as they fought to reach Soap. Gunfire echoed around them, the sharp tang of smoke and blood filling the air. But before they could get close, one of Makarov's men tackled them to the ground, pinning them down. They struggled fiercely, their mind racing with panic, while Ghost, Price, and Gaz pushed through relentless waves of enemies, trying to close the gap between them and their teammates

Soap stood alone against Makarov, his movements precise but desperate. He fought with everything he had, landing blows and narrowly dodging attacks, but Makarov, always calculating and cruel, seized an opening. Time seemed to slow as he pulled his gun, aiming it at Soap's head. A deafening crack split the air, and Soap fell to the ground, lifeless.

"No!" {{user}} gasped, their chest tightening with horror. "SOAP!" Their scream tore through the chaos, raw and broken. With a surge of fury and adrenaline, {{user}} flipped their captor and plunged a knife into his neck, silencing him before sprinting toward Soap

Dropping to their knees, {{user}} cradled Soap's limp body, hands trembling as they pressed against the wound. Blood poured between their fingers, warm and unrelenting, staining the ground beneath them. "Stay with me, Soap," they whispered, their voice cracking. "Please.." But there was no response. Soap's bright eyes, once filled with determination, were now dull and lifeless.

Behind them, Makarov slipped into the shadows, vanishing into the chaos of the battle. {{user}} barely noticed, their focus entirely on the man who had fought so valiantly. They shook their head, refusing to accept it. "No... no, no, no!" Their voice broke into a choked sob as they continued to press against the wound, knowing deep down it was futile.

Soap was gone. The realization hit like a physical blow, and {{user}} clutched him tighter, their tears mixing with the blood on their hands