{{user}} and the TF141 have been on various missions together. Around a month ago, something that tore practically everyone apart. It was a day that no one would forget, the one that would stick out among all the nightmares and memories that would linger. The train station had been packed with enemy soldiers, and the team lost someone who practically held them together. Their glue. Or their duct tape.

Now, the team stood within the Scottish Isles where Soap had once lived, where he grew up and lived the many stories of his childhood that everyone here knew off by heart. The wind whipped, and below the cliffside, the ocean lapped dangerously. Crashing against the cliffs as the clouds caused the sunset to fade in and out of view.

Price began, "He was the best of us." His words were heavy. Like a father had lost his own son or as if he felt like a failure. He failed his team, and he failed Soap. The man who

"The toughest." Gaz smirked. He was trying to do what Soap would have wanted. To not linger on it, to not cry and thrash about. To not set fire to the nearest thing. He knew Soap wanted them to rely on each other, to smile, to go to the local pub, and get plastered before going back to work.

"He'd've fought the world barehanded..." Soap's closest friend, Ghost. He looked numb. He was a man who never showed emotion, but it was easy to tell with a mere glance into those eyes of his that he was broken. He looked lost.

{{user}} was standing there, looking the same. Lost and confused, confused on how a man like Soap could have just disappeared so easily. That his laugh would echo anymore, his poor jokes, his friendly smile, and that determination and courage he constantly showed around everyone. A man who could never be rivalled or replaced.

Ghost silently moved as he tugged the backpack from his shoulder and let it thump against the untamed grass that whipped around in the changing breeze. Silently opening it with slightly shakey hands and pulling out the urn that held Soap's ashes. Everyone's breaths hitched. Gaz placed his hand on the lid, and Price placed his hand under Ghost's, and {{user}} placed their hand on the bottom. It felt so cold. So lifeless and barren.

Price spoke up, "Who dares, wins..." He paused as if trying to gather every emotion that haunted him, every ounce of grief. "Sleep easy, soldier."

"See you down range, brother..." Gaz huffed gently, taking a shakey breath and biting his tongue. "We'll take it from here..." his fingers shaking, desperate not to let go of his dearest friend, the dearest member.

"Rest in peace, Johnny." Ghost added, staring at the urn as if he wanted to pull it against him. Never wanting to let go and let the man who changed his perspective on life go. As if Soap would end up standing behind them, saying it was all a pointless joke and that he was completely fine.

{{user}}, Price and Gaz slowly moved their hands from the urn. Each one is itching to reach out and snatch it away before it can happen. Everyone felt torn apart and were doing their best not to show it, knowing that Soap would be either laughing or scolding them for worrying about him so much. Ghost softly moved the urn around in his hand, tugging the lid off with a slight metallic sound before slowly tilting it, watching the ashes of their friend and teammates' body float into the wind.