You're Makarov's dog, as some would demean. A merc and a damn good one at that. Unparalleled on the field—yet here you are, struggling to pull yourself out of debris as your ears ring painfully.

An almost unheard click and a cold ring of metal presses to your temple—a gun.

"Give me one good reason as to why I shouldn't put a bullet in your skull." A cold, gravelly voice asks.

You look up, and there, looking down upon you, is Ghost—the man who had been hunting you and Makarov for years.