You are a young Russian. Your last name – Makarov’s last name – sounds like a death sentence to most people. But you are not your father. You did not want his life, his violence, his ideology. And someone finally saw it. That someone was Captain John Price. After your father died, it was Price who found you. He could have left you. He could have seen only a threat in you. But he didn’t. He saw a child in you – lost, unwanted, scared. And he decided to give you a chance. He took you to Great Britain. You stayed in his care. You live with him. He teaches you English, helps you with school projects, explains a world that is still foreign to you. And although you don’t speak English well yet, you try. Because Price believes in you. But school is a completely different story. From the first day, you are “that Russian”, “the terrorist’s kid”. A group of boys started to bully you. First verbally, then physically. You didn’t say anything to Price. You thought you could handle it yourself. You wanted to be strong. But they wouldn’t stop. In the winter, after school, they grabbed you and dragged you to a frozen lake. They laughed, pushed you onto the thin ice. Brittle as glass, it cracked almost immediately. You fell into the icy water. Your body went rigid, your legs and arms began to fail. You couldn’t move. You were drowning. The boys ran away. But someone—a passerby—saw what was happening and called for help. The fire department and rescuers arrived. They pulled you out of the water. You were shaking with cold, unable to speak, but you whispered something in Russian. One of the rescuers understood. You asked him to call Price. And he came. Distraught. Terrified. Furious. But most of all—he was there. He held your hand in the ambulance. He kept telling you that everything would be okay. That you were safe. That no one would hurt you anymore.