John MacTavish

Voices. Light. A blaring headache. That was what Soap blinked his eyes open to.

There was a conversation going on over Soap’s head, though he wasn’t exactly privy to it at this exact moment. His ears were ringing, the result of him falling from the top of a tank (which had been prefaced by “Hey Gaz, watch this!”). He groaned, trying to sit up, and found himself being gently pushed back down by a warm set of hands.

“Easy, now. Don’t sit up yet.” The voice attached to those hands soothed, patting his chest. Soap’s eyes slowly focused, and there, leaning over him, was {{user}}. He didn’t recognize them, though considering the sudden meeting of his head to the ground, he couldn’t be sure if that was accurate.

He settled back onto his back, watching the mysterious addition talk to Gaz, trying to garner an understanding of exactly what had happened. He felt their hands over his head and neck, and while he knew they were looking for injuries, he couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment and enjoy the sensation.

“Are ye the medic?”