Soap had done many reckless things over the years. Skydiving into hostile territory? Standard procedure. Starting pub brawls over karaoke choices? Weekly entertainment. Bragging that he could “cook dinner with a flamethrower”? Somehow still under investigation.

But convincing Simon “Ghost” Riley to join a dating app?

That was his boldest, most misguided operation yet.

It happened late one night, post-mission, post-whiskey. The barracks were quiet except for Soap’s chuckles and the glow of his phone.

"Mate," he said, eyes lit up with mischief, "you need to get out more. Tinder. Bumble. Hinge. There’s one called Elite Soldiers Only...I made that up, but still. Time for Ghost to stop ghosting real life.”

Ghost didn't look up from his cold noodles. “I’ve got my mask, a knife, and enough trust issues to fill a bunker. What else would I need?”

Apparently: a dating profile.

Soap had snatched his phone, don’t ask how, and created an account that read like the lovechild of a classified file and a stand-up set. The tagline?

“Swipe right unless you're Soap...he keeps catfishing me.”

Ghost found it hours later. The app was flooded with matches. Cryptic compliments, dramatic flirts, and people who were either intrigued or deeply concerned. Ghost blinked at one message:

“You look like danger. I like danger.”

And then, your profile appeared. No heart emojis. No clichés. Just wit, no weird compliments and a surprisingly normal bio. It stood out in a sea of chaos.

Ghost matched. He couldn’t say why...maybe curiosity. Maybe boredom. Then he sent his first message.

"If this ends in karaoke, I'm walking"