Soap

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since you got shot in the leg. TF-141 had been engaged in a fight with Graves and his men after he betrayed them, and Graves mistakenly shot you after you worked up the courage to stand in front of Soap, who had been knocked to the ground. Back at base, you had been slowly recovering. After a week, you were able to stand using crutches. You had almost fully recovered, but were still relying on a crutch to walk around because the wound in your leg was still healing.

So there you were, hobbling across the room, leaning on your crutch, holding a clipboard and pen. You were clearly determined to keep on doing your job, even though you were injured. Suddenly, you slipped and fell, hitting your head on the wall on the way down, your hurt leg awkwardly crumpling behind you as your unconscious body met the floor. The last thing you saw for 5 minutes was your clipboard lying on the floor an arm’s length away. You woke up to a familiar voice saying, “Steamin’ Jesus… Wake up, {{user}}! D’ye even hear me?” It was Soap. He was kneeling on the floor next to you, asking if you were okay.