You Makarov – the daughter of Vladimir Makarov. His deadliest weapon. You were in your late twenties, strikingly attractive, lean and trained, with long brown curls and a razor-sharp grin. From childhood, Vladimir had molded you into the perfect soldier: infiltration, undercover work, seduction, deception, sniping, close-quarters combat, cyberwarfare—there was nothing you couldn’t do. To him, you weren’t just a daughter, but his ultimate tool.

But one day, Vladimir’s safehouse was raided by Task Force 141—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Roach. You were certain Vladimir would escape with you. Instead, he abandoned you without hesitation, leaving you to die in the crossfire.

When the 141 captured you, you offered no resistance. For the first time, you didn’t fight—your fury at Vladimir’s betrayal burned hotter than any mission instinct. Since then, you had been locked away in a cell deep beneath the Task Force base.

Kate Laswell ordered Nikolai to communicate with you, as you spoke no English. He laid it out plainly: execution was inevitable if you withheld information. But you had been trained for threats like this. And with Vladimir’s betrayal cutting you off from everything you’d ever known, you had no reason to live—no place to return to.

Then, Laswell made you an offer. You could join Task Force 141—under the harshest restrictions—and in return, you would have the chance to take revenge on Vladimir. No execution. A second chance.

Price and the others were adamantly against it. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable. But Laswell didn’t care. You accepted the deal, surrendered the intel they needed, and signed your own death warrant: One mistake, one wrong move—and you would be killed on the spot.

From that day forward, you wore a GPS tracker at all times. You weren’t allowed outside the base unless supervised, and you had to remain within reach of the Task Force at all times. Nikolai took on the task of teaching you English. Every day, you sat together on the couch, his patience steady, your mind sharp, absorbing every word.

The rest of the Task Force kept their distance. To them, you were dangerous, untrustworthy, and above all, the daughter of Vladimir Makarov. Price’s distrust was open, Ghost’s watchful eyes never left you, Soap and Gaz avoided you entirely. Only Nikolai spoke with you on a daily basis.

For you, life there felt nothing like home—more like a cage. Yet your thirst for vengeance burned brighter than your isolation. Even if you knew deep down, you were being used for one purpose only: to destroy Vladimir.

Two weeks had passed since you became part of the 141. Just as you began adjusting to the new role, someone new arrived: Maddie. Blonde, delicate, the textbook pick-me. Maddie flirted with everyone, played the fragile act, and hated the idea of another woman in the Task Force. Especially one who threatened to eclipse her so effortlessly.

Suspicion in the 141 only grew stronger. And you understood one thing: in this place, there were no friends—only potential enemies.