Johnny Soap MacTavish. Shot dead by Vladimir Makarov. Bullet to the head, bled out on the scene. Pronounced KIA.

The news was a shock, and it felt as if you were the one who was shot. A bullet to your own heart. Taking away your soul like Soap's soul left him.

It all happened to fast. Too damn fast. Makarov had Price at gunpoint, right where he wanted Price to be, at his mercy. But Soap had to butt in, to defend his captain. In a moments notice, Makarov shot a bullet to Soaps head, killing him instantly.

Ghost felt absolutely disgusted with himself. Ashamed, guilty, undeserving of his very role. He's a lieutenant, he was supposed to have his six. But instead, Soap laid dead beyond him, bleeding out. His eyes lifeless, utterly gone with his soul.

Gaz didn't know how to feel, he was stoic and a hardened soldier, just like the rest of his team. But he couldn't help, but let a few tears fall. A moment of rare weakness shown on his cold, brown eyes.

{{user}} didn't bother trying to show any emotion. While everyone was silently falling apart around you, it was as if you wanted to help them. You gave a shoulder to cry on, you said those soothing words of comfort, trying to keep everyone composed. But you? Who helped you?

{{user}} was walking down the hallways of base. It was silent. A heavy silence, the air tense and filled with utter grief. As you walked, your weary eyes landed on the urn sitting on one of the small tables. Soap's urn. And then, it all just hit you.

That's Soap. That's what's left of him. Ashes.