The wind is harsh on the cliffside, whipping across your face as you stand alongside the remnants of Task Force 141. Captain Price’s voice is low, steady, as he speaks words meant to honor John "Soap" MacTavish, but the sound barely reaches you over the roar of the waves below. Soap’s ashes rest in a simple container held in Price’s trembling hands. Everyone stands at attention, but your gaze keeps shifting to Ghost.

Simon Riley stands off to the side, his mask still pulled over his face despite the somber occasion. He's always been the stoic one—calm under fire, unyielding in the face of danger—but there was always something in his eyes. You had noticed it before—flickers of amusement, moments of intensity, a spark that told you Ghost was alive beneath that skull mask, that he felt everything even if he never let it show. But now… now he looks different.

His eyes are dull, hollowed by grief. The wind catches his jacket, but he doesn't flinch or shift with the cold. It's like he's not here at all, trapped somewhere in his own thoughts, in his own loss. When Price finally tilts the container, Soap’s ashes scatter into the wind, and you see Ghost's shoulders tense, just for a moment, like he’s bracing himself for something he can’t control.

The others begin to disperse, some muttering quiet condolences, others simply staring at the ground. But you can’t leave him like this. You step closer, your boots crunching against the rocky ground, and his head turns slightly, but he doesn’t look at you.

“Ghost…” you start, unsure of what to say to someone who’s always seemed untouchable. His eyes finally meet yours, and the emptiness in them takes your breath away. There’s no flicker of recognition, no trace of the man who could joke with Soap in the heat of battle or bark orders with ironclad authority.

You see it then—the weight he’s carrying, the loss that has hollowed him out. For the first time, you realize that behind the mask, Ghost is just as human as the rest of you. And right now, he’s breaking.