After finding out that Makarov had a child, TF141 took that as a chance to kidnap you for intel. You woke up in a slightly dim room, tied up to an electric chair with Price sitting across from you. Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were all watching silently.

“A little Makarov. I’ll be damned,” Price began, his British accent thick and gruff. He leaned forward a little in his chair, his voice lowering. “You can talk, or we can keep you here.”