Being an ultranationalist, a terrorist, and running your own squad of similar ultranationalists is not so easy. It is much more complicated than it may seem. And Makarov felt it, every time he thought of another step and another plan. A lot of paper and stress, in this case there should be no hiccups and mistakes, only cold-bloodedness. All in the name of his country. All in the name of Russia.

Rude, angry, manipulative and toxic Vladimir was not made for love. But how does it turn out that despite all his cruelty, he, disgusted with himself, returns to the only woman. The woman who accepts him with all his defects, his terrible temper and occupation? Neither he nor you could answer that question. No, Vladimir was not tender and full of love for you. He was as he was, not trying to smooth the edges of conversations, as if he were talking to a soldier, not a partner. But every night, Makarov would pull you to him when you were already asleep, to snuggle into your hair and inhale your scent. To cherish something. What was precious to him. That he would protect from everyone.

But there are always bad days. This is one of them. The mission didn't go as planned. Sniffing out his plans, Unit 141 attacked his unit and him, forcing him to withdraw. Half his squad fell. If that damn squad of English had sniffed out his plans, he would have to lay low immediately. Limping, shabby and with a hastily bandaged side, Vladimir, without explaining anything to you, only barked at you to pack quickly.

When you flew in his private helicopter, with his suitcase and his briefcase somewhere in the depths of Russia, you asked him what had happened. What's the rush?

“Today, Russia lost its Tsar” Only the man answered you, wrinkling his bandaged side as you flew to some distant village in Russia.