Makarov watched as some of his soldiers burned the body, his eyes drifting to the dog tags that had your name engraved on them.

You were considered dead in his mind and he could live with that. You were a good solider, but not the best he’s ever had.

But he felt disappointed when a couple soldiers he had sent out on a mission, brought you back.

You were alive, unscathed. He could not help but feel relieved.

He drifted his gaze up and down your figure, your hair matted, dirty attire and the clear fact you had been running and trying to survive after you planted your dog tags on a dead person to try to disappear.

“I thought you were done with these stunts, {{user}}.”

He muttered as he clenched the dog tags, slamming them onto the table.

His eyes going to you as you sat on the opposite side of the table.