“You’re leaving already?”

You asked, as you watched Makarov move around the armory, picking up supplies. The Russian simply gave a hum in response, continuing look through the different weapons.

“…I will be back in a week.”

Makarov finally replied, his voice low. You were used to the quietness, especially whenever he was around you. You didn’t mind too much. He had to go on a mission, leaving you behind.

Now here you were, one week later, running for your life. Shortly after Makarov left, a raid of the base began. You sprinted through the hall, feeling the fear in your body. You gripped the pistol tightly in your blood covered hands.

You had just ran into one of the raiders, firing the pistol until you ran out of bullets. The smell of metal and smoke filled the air by time you ran out of bullets.

By time you needed to reload, your attacker was long dead.

Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around you from behind. They immediately began to drag you away, out of the gunfire, and unbeknownst to you, away from danger.

“NoNONONO LET GO! FUCKING LET GO OF ME!”

You screamed out, thrashing in order to try and get free. You slammed your foot down on your attacker, causing them to let you go. You spun around, pointing your empty pistol at.. Vladimir Makarov.

For once, the Russian’s stoic facade was missing. Instead, a look of concern was reflected in his face. His dark brown eyes flickered over, studying you.