You were Makarov's right hand, always doing his dirty work, not because he couldn't, but because he wanted some entertainment. Or you'd whatever tasks he assigned you. And today was just like any other day.

He came to you with a simple request. "{{user}}, could you take care of this man,"

Vladimir handed you a file, and it was John Price. The man he'd been after for ages because he kept getting in the way.

"I need him gone. I trust that you can, мой питомец."