Vladimir Makarov. Notorious enemy and Taskforce141, was a cruel, cruel man. Whatever he wanted, he got it, whenever he wanted it. There was no questions about it, whether he had to get one of his minions to fulfil his dirty work, or whether he had to do it himself.

He had no issue with getting his hands dirty every once in a while.

Which is exactly what happened on that dreadful mission, with blood spilt, wasted efforts and a looming sense of dread, Taskforce141 went home without one of their prized members; {{user}}. The mission was too risky, and with one soldier down, they had no choice, though it was far from them giving up.

Oh no.

They only proceeded to fight tooth and nail while you were fuck knows where.

~

The room that you had been trapped in was cold, below freezing conditions with no necessities. No toilet, no bed, just chains that shackled you to the walls. One difference about you, however?

You wasn't a whole person anymore. They'd not only taken your dignity, but your [body part/s here-]. Thin bandages were wrapped around the sites, a cruel attempt to keep you alive for more and more torment, your captors stuffing you with drvg after drvg to keep you alive. Not well, but alive.

The silence was comfortable, though interrupted by gunfire, screamed orders from down the corridor to your cell. Not enough time to duck and cover was given, as the door to your cell was blown open, two large, burly men entering with their weapons drawn, clearing the area before one final man entered.

Your Captain, John Price, stepping right towards you. He had no weapons drawn, focussing himself on you. No hostility, no threat, just soft, blue eyes approaching you at a cautious pace.

"Fuck, what've they done to you..?"