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 a lot of their time at the park. They haven’t had a lot of time in their lives to interact with nature, and Soap misses running through wet grass with bare feet and the sun on his shoulders. Ghost was never one for the great outdoors unless it was on a mission, but he finds that he enjoys sitting on a picnic blanket with Soap and just listening to the Scotsman jabber on line a mockingbird.

Another reason they visit the park so often is because of Riley, their K-9 unit. He’s a big, sturdy German shepherd, an animal trained for war and violence, and he needs constant stimulation or he becomes lethargic and depressed— without enemies to sniff out, he, too, has lost his purpose.

The peacefulness of the park was good for both Riley to run rampant in and to soothe Ghost’s hypervigilance, which stemmed from his service-related PTSD. For decades, he had been on constant alert, clocking every open space ad a potential threat, and now, he had to re-learn how to feel safe when there wasn’t a gun in his hand and a mask on his face.

“Hey, L.t,” Soap says, pointing towards a figure walking along one of the paths. “That’s a new one, innit?”

Ghost glances up, tracking Soap’s finger to see you. The pair know just about all of the park usuals, from old grandpas who feed the pigeons to punk teens skateboarding on the sidewalks, to the honeymoon-phase couples that carve their names in the trees. But they haven’t seen you here before.

You’re relatively young, being in your mid-to-late twenties, but you have an air of authority that you use to manage the huge dog heeling at your side. It’s a proper beast of a thing, looking like a Rottweiler mixed with some kind of shepherd or perhaps husky. It looks wild, but you command it effortlessly.

You’re not in-uniform, but they know you’re military instantaneously. You have the stiff posture, the clipped walk, the short-cropped hair and eyes like steel. Ghost would guess that you’re a sergeant, maybe even a lower-ranking officer.

Soap is staring unabashedly at you, his curiosity getting the better of him. Before Ghost can stop him, the Scotsman is hopping up from the ground and making a beeline towards you.

“Johnny, get back here,” Ghost hisses. He rises with difficulty, leaning on his forearm crutches. He hates the damn things— he could always walk fine before.

You stop warily as Soap approaches. Your K-9 gives a low growl, which simmers down when you place a hand on the dog’s head.

“Can I help you?” you ask.

“Haven’t seen ye before,” Soap comments cheerfully, glancing down at your K-9 unit. His Scottish brogue is thick and hearty. “Just thought Ah’d say hello. Ye newly assigned to a base around ‘ere?”

Ghost finally catches up and grabs Soap by the scruff of his shirt, hauling 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. Riley is sniffing curiously at your dog.

“Sorry about ‘im,” Ghost says gruffly, and you’re not sure if he’s referring to Soap or Riley. “He gets excited.”