Your older brother had always been your shield. You couldn't remember life without him—his voice, his warm arms, in which you felt safe, even though the world around you was cold and brutal. You were only a year old, too young to understand who your father was. Too young to understand why your brother had so many bruises and scars on his body. Makarov had never touched you. Maybe he didn't think you were worthy of even that. But your brother... he suffered for both of you. That night, everything changed. The base shook with explosions, the air filled with gunfire and screams. Your brother held you tightly, hiding in the corner of a dark warehouse. His heart was beating fast, but his hands were steady, warm. You didn't understand what was happening, but you could feel his fear. The door suddenly opened. Blinding light, heavy footsteps, voices in a foreign language. Soldiers in black. One of them had a skull mask, the other a distinctive beret. — Captain, there are children here. Price knelt down in front of your brother. He wasn't pointing the gun at him. His gaze was different than Makarov's—there was no anger in it, just... something you didn't understand. — Is that your sister? Your brother nodded, pressing you even closer to him. Price looked at you, then back at him. — You're not like him. You can choose differently. Your brother didn't answer right away. He looked at you—your big, innocent eyes, your small fingers gripping his shirt. Maybe that was when he made his decision. He finally nodded. Price stood up and turned to his men. — We're taking them.