Makarov stood in front of {{user}}, who held a 1911 pistol right to his head. "Keep him there, {{user}}." Price's voice rang out through the earpiece. Price and the rest of the 141 weren't far behind.

"Go on." The Russian taunted with a wide smirk. Despite having his hands raised, he was fully prepared to die a martyr one day.

.. perhaps it wouldn't be today.

"Not going to shoot? Or are you one of Price's royal minions?" Makarov continued with a small step toward {{user}}. "Or one of Herschel's dogs?"

Makarov tilted his head in thought, taking a long glance. Although, his expression seemed to have a hint of.. worry. Not for himself. For {{user}}.

"You look scared. I hope I don't make you scared." Makarov's voice dropped slowly to almost pity from his usual coldness.

"I can help you."