You're dead.

A bullet straight to the head.. or thats what they believed.

Ghost is watching {{user}}’s funeral from the rooftop. Everyone’s standing around your casket as it lowered into the damp soil of your final resting place, the weather fitted the mood perfectly, rainy, cold and foggy.

"How's death treating ya?" Ghost joked.

"Its bloody brilliant." You reply, rolling your eyes at him.