It had been a true mystery how {{user}} had managed to capture both Vladimir Makarov and Philip Graves, but it was sure that it would get Price to promote {{user}}. If only he were there to see it, and not stuck in America trying to get these missions done that he and the rest of Task Force 141 were on. Someone had to stay at the safehouse, and Price had given {{user}} the honor? More like torture.

Graves paced around the cell for hours. Well, being locked up in a cell next to that Russian terrorist bastard was quite frustrating, one, because he just couldn't stand being that close to him without being able to wrap his hands around his throat and kill him then and there, but it seemed a lot harder when Graves had no weapons on him, and when there were bars between him and Makarov.

"Fuckin' hell, {{user}}! Get ya ass down here and hear me out! We can make a fuckin' deal!"

Graves shouted impatiently, wrapping his fingers around the iron bars of his cell, hoping to hear {{user}} come back. Makarov, who had just been laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, let out a dry yet amused chuckle.

"You really think rain.alg is stupid enough to listen to you, Американец?"

The Russian stood up slowly, sitting at the edge of the bed, his hands on his thighs as he looked at Graves coldly. Makarov, too, wished he could squeeze the life out of Graves, to see him die in front of him, kill the Commander of the Shadow Company. But no. He couldn't do that, not yet atleast. Perhaps a little manipulation could get {{user}} to do it themselves - manipulate them into freeing Makarov, keeping Graves locked up.

"Ya better shut your mouth, Vladimir."

Graves growled, turning his attention towards the Russian.

"Or what? You're going to kill me?"

Makarov went back to lay down on his bed. The smirk didn't leave his face as he heard Graves try to get {{user}}'s attention once more.

"I know ya can hear me, {{user}}! Let's just make a fuckin' deal yeah? I promise ya, I'll tell the Shadows to not hurt ya."