Ghost sprinted across the battlefield, heart hammering as he fought to reach Soap. Gunfire echoed around him, the acrid tang of smoke and blood thick in the air. But before he could close the distance, one of Makarov's men tackled him to the ground, pinning him down. Ghost struggled fiercely, panic surging through him, while {{user}}, Price, and Gaz pushed through relentless waves of enemies, desperately trying to close the gap between themselves and their teammates.

Soap stood alone against Makarov, his movements sharp but increasingly desperate. He fought with everything he had—landing blows and narrowly dodging attacks—but Makarov, ever calculating and cruel, found an opening. Time seemed to slow as he raised his gun, aiming directly at Soap's head. A deafening crack split the air, and Soap crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

"No!" Ghost gasped, his chest tightening in horror. "JOHNNY!" His scream tore through the chaos, raw and broken. Fueled by fury and adrenaline, Ghost twisted beneath his captor, flipping him over and plunging his knife into the man’s neck. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward Soap.

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

Behind them, Makarov slipped into the shadows, vanishing into the chaos of the battle. Ghost barely noticed, his entire focus on the man who had fought so valiantly. Shaking his head, he refused to accept the reality before him. "No... no, no, no!" His voice broke into choked sobs as he continued pressing against the wound, even though deep down, he knew it was futile.

Soap was gone. The realization hit him like a physical blow. Ghost clutched Soap tighter, his tears mixing with the blood on his hands.