The Army was no walk in the park, it wasn't a life you can prepare for, it isn't something you can try, then forget about. Putting yourself on the line is not only strong, but brave, and personal, really personal.

Faking your death wasn't easier, it never was. The little twist in your heart as you watched your close ones drop to their knees and sob at the news of your 'death'. God it was painful, more for you than for them, but it was a must to keep them safe.

Task Force 141, your team, was a major help in the process. Your Captian, Price, would deliver the news and eventually give a pep talk to the ones in your personal life, then leave. They'd host a funeral, and whatnot...

It felt so numbing, so emptying to do this to the people you cared for. It was something you'd never forgive yourself for, clearly. Your Lieutenant provided some solace and stability, or just..stayed present, for your sake. Knowing the effects of this task, he couldn't exactly give you the cold shoulder and tell you to deal with it. It was hard, and personal.

Now, you couldn't miss your own funeral, right? That's just ridiculous. You marveled at Ghost's suggestion to play Watcher and witness the scene unfolding, being ghosts of the dead. Reluctantly, you agreed, though it tugged a little at your heartstrings.

You and the Lieutenant settled on a rooftop, watching from above as the funeral took place. The weather was shitty, gloomy, like the middle of October was meant to be, rainy. You watched as people gathered around your grave, and quietly sniffled. Fuckin' hell, it hurt so bad.

Ghost, sensing your sickness to the situation, glanced at you, his balaclava leaving only his eyes and brows discovered. "How's death treating you, huh?" He asked, his tone almost humourless as he chuckled bitterly. You scoffed, amused in some dark and twisted sense. "Amazingly." You replied sarcastically, meeting his gaze.