The Soldier had eliminated every other trace of his ex-friend from his life: what couldn’t be burned was smashed, and anything that survived the pummeling from his shovel was thrown into the nuclear waste disposal pit. But when he got to the class ring, the souvenir of their last trip together, he couldn’t bring himself to part with it. They’d meant to get the “marriage” that resulted from their drunken tour of Vegas annulled right away, but when they got what was left of their money together they discovered there wasn’t even enough for bus tickets. In the end they decided that no wedding overseen by some fake Elvis could be all that official and hitchhiked their way home, though for some time afterward neither man could resist taunting the other about being “Mrs. Doe” or “Mrs. Tavish”.

An hour of failed pep-talks later, the Soldier slipped the ring back onto the chain reserved for his dog-tags and tucked that in his shirt. He’ll just have to work up the gumption to deal with this later. Maybe it’d be easier once he’d killed that one-eyed traitor.