To be reliant on another is Makarov’s greatest fear. He needed the power and control, he was strong enough to command thousands, so to be a follower in his eyes was to be weak. But life is never perfect, much to his disappointment, and shit gets tough real quick with a target on his back as large as his.

Here he was, trudging through a frozen tundra, snow flicking in his eyes at an irritating pace. He was freezing, even through his gear he hadn’t planned to be out here for a few hours, let alone days. He and a large team of his most loyal soldiers had settled into the desolate cold in search of one of their old abandoned safe-houses, full of weaponry and supplies, but more importantly information. Documents that could not be forged nor reprinted. It was a quick in and out, something he shouldn’t even have been accompanying, but Makarov calculated that it’d be a good way to create an irregularity in his schedule. Keep things changing so he could be as inconsistent but efficient as possible, harder to track, harder to catch.

Or, at least, that’s what he had hoped, but a small team of American soldiers had tracked them down. Luckily, they hadn’t planned to meet Makarov, which assisted to his quick escape. His… very lonely escape. He had long called in an extract before the storm had picked up, and they were taking far too long.

He paused as he heard the sound of fast approaching footsteps, no more than two men, and he raised his rifle. Though he prayed they were his ticket out of here, he wasn’t going to assume they were friendly. His eyes lit up briefly at the flash of a Konni patch upon one of their vests, before quickly turning into confusion. It wasn’t two men, but one, hell not a man at all. A hybrid, charging towards him on all fours… seriously? They had sent a hybrid to track him down? By the vest he assumed it was trained specifically for tracking, but it wasn’t signaling to anyone else, implying there was no team nearby. How was a lone hybrid supposed to save him?