A cold wind ruffles your clothes while you stand silently in the field. You have long accepted the loss, but your heart is still scratching pain. Your teammates and friends are standing next to you, but you don't pay attention to them. Your gaze is fixed on the engraved inscription on the tombstone Johnny 'Soap' McTavish. He was your friend, a good partner. You still have the sound of the gunshot and your deafening scream in your mind when his body falls to the ground. He's not coming back.