You saw it happen. You were there. Seeing Soap attempt to take Makarov on. The scene replayed over and over in your head.

Everyone's mood was sad and sour. No one was willing to break the uncomfortable silences that overtook the 141. That was Soap's job.

It had been months since the incident. You were on a mission, hunting down Makarov. Aiming your Sniper, ready to blow the bastards head off.

Only to see a familiar Mohawk next to the man. You thought you were seeing things, surely it can't be him right? The man with the Mohawk turned, and you saw a familiar face.

It was Soap. There's no way it wasn't.