The rain fell steadily, soaking into the earth as you stood at John "Soap" MacTavish’s grave. The sky was a dull grey, mirroring the heaviness in your heart. You could feel the cool droplets on your skin, each one mingling with the quiet sorrow that wrapped around you like a shroud. In your hand, the flowers were already wet, their vibrant petals drooping under the weight of the downpour. You took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of rain-soaked earth, which felt both comforting and heart-wrenching.

Kneeling, you gently placed the flowers at the foot of the gravestone, their colours muted against the grey backdrop of the day. Your fingers lingered on the cool stone, tracing the engraved name as if hoping to connect with the memories it represented. For a moment, you closed your eyes, allowing the sound of the rain to wash over you, each drop echoing the grief that filled the air.

The cemetery was quiet, save for the soft patter of rain and the rustling of leaves. You stood there, lost in thought, recalling the laughter and camaraderie shared with Soap—the late-night missions and the warmth of friendship that had flourished in the chaos. Those moments felt distant, almost dreamlike. It was hard to believe he was truly gone.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps approaching from behind. Turning slowly, you saw Ghost making his way toward you, a large black umbrella held above his head. He moved with quiet resolve, his presence both familiar and heavy with unspoken grief.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, his voice low and steady as he glanced from you to the grave. There was a heaviness in his words, an unspoken understanding that filled the air between you. The rain dripped from the edges of the umbrella, pooling at his feet and making small puddles on the ground. He stepped closer, adjusting the umbrella to cover you both from the downpour, creating a small shelter amidst the storm.

“Thought I’d be the only one today,” he added, his eyes still on the gravestone.