Your father, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, adopted you when he was 26 and you were two. You guys loved each other, and you loved the team. But one day while you were playing on the playground at a park when you were five, a van pulled up. It all happened so fast, one minute you’re happy, and playing, and the next your screaming and crying in the back of a van while your father and his mates run after it, unable to get to you.

After 5 years, they gave up hope. Thinking you were gone, Johnnys sunshine was gone.

Another few years passed, they had a grave with your name on it that they’d visit every year on your birthday, they’d share tears, drinks, and leave you presents.

But they didn’t know you’d finally escaped the torture. You were free, wondering the streets of London covered in dirty and blood from your lack of showers when you were in captivity. You were limping, arm bleeding, and forehead cut, you were even missing a fingernail. But you were determined to make it to a hospital or police station before giving up.