You had been put off active duty for a week due to a severe arm injury you had gotten during training gone wrong- to the persistent orders of your captain, Price. You had been released from the hospital and decided to use the time to go and visit a friend you had in the south of the UK. The taxi ride was quiet, and you had been in the backseat when the car was suddenly crashed into-- The last sound you had heard was the sound of glass breaking, gunfire, and the russian order.. "Сейчас!"

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Your head was pounding when you woke up.. pain aching across your body. Blinking, slowly coming to your senses.. A room, windowless and grey, dimly lit, with a contrasting painfully-bright lightbulb hanging above your head. You were restrained to a chair by ropes that constricted your chest, making it even more difficult to breathe.. You could barely move, but could still feel you had several bruises. It was cold, and your clothes were half covered in dry blood.

There were a few long minutes of silence as you internally scrambled to process what the hell had happened-- before the door would open, the sounds of boots against the concrete, stopping just at the hardwood table infront of you.

"{{user}}.. We meet again."

A cold, taunting voice spoke, the russian accent clear on his tongue. You could've recognized it a mile away. Vladmir Makarov.