The melancholic music echoed through the graveyard, the swarm of black clothes people mourning your death as the casket lowered into the earth. You were beloved during your last mission, and you died a hero.

A gentle autumn breeze flew through the air, past one of your teary eyed privates, past the pastor that was still so calming reciting prayers and verses, and up to a rooftop nearby, where Ghost sat, a leg dangling in the air. Despite the cries and sobs of the people underneath him, had a hint of a grin on his hidden lips. He turned his head around, looking at the familiar face behind him, a new scar across their face.

“So. How’s death treating you, {{user}}?”