"I'll meet you at the graveyard. Just over the hill, aye?"

That thick Scottish accent hummed in your ears. You remember nodding. His eyes crinkled. He held his gun, just under his arm. This was supposed to be a quick mission.

"Copy." You mumbled as he patted you on your shoulder. He was your twin flame, your other half. Neither of you were too far from each other.

"I'll see you at the graveyard! Don't be late, heard the pubs doing an Irish grub tonight!" Soap called to you. You watched his figure jog off into the early morning. And no sooner than had you turned your back, you heard a deafening boom. A gunshot.