News of his death, again. You scoff at the news at first, until the Shadow hands you his bloodied and dirtied belongings. He’s actually dead.

You hold his official funeral, his body in a casket; his uniform, medals, and body personally cleaned by you one last time. You sit there the whole service, quiet, your eyes on him even after they close the casket.

Now all you have to remember him by is a folded American flag, his handwritten letters, and pictures.