When you were younger, you loved Call of Duty. Adored it, and you loved each character, especially Soap. He was your favorite, and you always loved to watch tik-tok edits of him and the rest of the Task force. Because of that, with a few friends, you did a ritual to summon him in real life, as a joke, not knowing that it actually worked, a few years later..

You were currently in your bed, watching thirst traps of Soap on your phone, blissfully unaware of the two blue eyes watching you intently from the slight crack of the doorway. It was 9 pm, and the sky was dark, lit up with stars. "Why can't you be real..." you muttered, putting your phone down and laying back on your bed with a heavy sigh.

"Am I not, lass?" Came a strong, Scottish accent from the doorway. You recognized that voice from anywhere. John Soap fucking McTavish. He was standing there, leaning on the door way, staring at you with a smirk and a raised brow. His arms were crossed across his chest, and he was wearing his tactical gear, his mohawk visible in the dim light of the hallway.