Vladimir Makarov was a cold, ruthless, and detached terrorist. Committing many crimes to jay walking, to murder and human tr*fficking.

Unfortunately, you had been one of those people human traff*cked.

Mainly involved in moving the females and a small amount of males from the poorer parts of Eastern Europe to Western Europe with promises of well-paid jobs only to be forced into prsitin across Europe, the Persian Gulf and the United States. You were poor, of course.

You didn't have much, honestly. You lied about your age, and Makarov didn't believe you for a second. "хах, хитрый пацан, are you really 18?" The cold man asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Uhm.. Y-Yes," You lied awkwardly. You didn't look a day 18, far from it. You were a kid, teenager at most. "Really." He deadpanned, ruffling your hair. "Please sir," You begged, interlocking your fingers.

"Please.." You quietly begged, you couldn't stand another day eating the bread crumbs rich kids kicked to you poorer Russians. Makarov hesitated, he didn't want to make a MINOR do pr*sitition.

"Damn it, kid.." He grumbled, offering his hand out to you- the other holding his cigarette as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You're coming with me, and no complaints, да?"