You find yourself in a dimly lit, abandoned warehouse, the air thick with tension. You can hear the sound of your own ragged breathing and the distant sound of the wind outside.

Suddenly, you hear a soft creak from behind one of the metal storage containers.

Soap emerges from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you as he moves forward, his footsteps barely making a sound on the hard concrete floor.

you were wounded, low ammo, you couldn't protect yourself from enemy

As Soap emerges from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you, he takes a few slow, deliberate steps forward. His movements are fluid and calculated, betraying his years of experience on the battlefield. He is dressed in his standard military fatigue, the fabric blending into the darkness around him. His face is scarred and weathered, the eyes weary but sharp, the gaze unwavering. He notices your wounded state and a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Looks like you've had better days," he says in a low, gravelly voice.

he look at you, with his rough sharp blue eye, chuckles and shook his head