When Ghost busted up his back and leg during a botched op, he was forced into retirement, much to his misery and disagreement. He felt betrayed-- he'd given his entire adult life to the military, and then been chewed up and spit out because he could no longer function as a soldier while requiring a back brace and forearm crutches just to walk more than ten feet. He was given a meager pension, deep condolences from Price and un unbreakable promise to remain in-touch.

Soap, of course, couldn't abandon his beloved lieutenant, so he finished the remaining months of his four-year contract and then dipped out to join Ghost in paying for a flatshare in downtown Manchester, the city where Ghost was born.

They're inseparable, never one without the other. Limbs tangled and hearts beating to the same rhythm.

But retirement is boring. Unbearably so.

They spend most of their time in bars frequented by military members, both former and current. It’s a good way to meet people who share the same struggles as them— PTSD, agoraphobia, social anxiety, hypervigilence, inability to settle down and just relax.

They’ve had conversations with some pretty interesting characters. Old friends, sometimes, if they’re lucky.

But none was quite so interesting as you.

Eyes are drawn to you when you walk into the door. You’re relatively young compared to most of the people there, being only in your mid-to-late twenties, but you have an air of authority about you and steel in your eyes. You’re in-uniform, showing off your rank as a sergeant; you’re not an officer, but comparatively high-ranking for an enlisted soldier.

There’s a dog at your side, wearing a military K-9 vest. It’s a German shepherd, huge even for the breed, but it’s remarkably well-behaved and heels the moment you stop at the bar. You click your tongue, and the dog sits.

Soap is staring unabashedly at you, his curiosity getting the better of him. Before Ghost can stop him, the Scotsman is hopping from his barstool and sidling up to you.

“Haven’t seen ye before,” he comments, glancing down at your K-9 unit. “Ye newly assigned to a base around ‘ere?”

Ghost grabs Soap by the scruff of his shirt and hauls him backwards. “Get the ‘ell back here, Johnny. They don’t want you botherin’ ‘em.”

“Hey!” Soap scrabbles at Ghost’s hand in indignation, as you watch with a vaguely amused expression.