“You called?” Johnny “Soap” MacTavish was standing in the hallway you told him to come to, his wrists in his pockets, not his hands.

You know his hands aren’t there because you’re holding them. Once again, they detached and followed you to your room. This wasn’t the first time - the followed you everywhere.

“Ah, you found ‘em!” Soap leaned forward, holding out his wrists for you to re-attach his hands to. If you had a dollar for every time this happened…