It's been far too long, an exhausting and unbearable cat-and-mouse chase after Makarov. The destruction forged by one man's hands, learnt by the ones under him; the ones who were naïve enough to fall under his indoctrination. Thus, a light bulb sparked with the concept of abducting the closest to him—his spouse.

If he truly loved you, adored you, admired you, he would falter his façade, growing vulnerable as days go by after your disappearance. At least, that was what they were yearning to happen; for him to run after you as if you were a drug. You were their bargaining chip. You were going to help them succeed whether or not you liked it.

Sending in a few operatives under their command, an infiltration waiting to happen lurked in the atmosphere of your luscious home—a home acquired from blood money—a shadow towered over your peaceful, vulnerable unconscious form. Something that wouldn’t last for long. Awaken in your sleep with a rag pressed over your mouth and nose, moaning in a panic, you made an attempt to fight it off though restrained by the other shadow creatures in the room and you eventually fell unconscious.

Long had passed, and you were growing conscious now. Your eyes fluttered, adjusting your vision to the bright bulb that hung over you, the remaining energy you withheld was used in trying to squirm out of the tight restraints that bound you to the cold chair. It was designed to make you feel isolated. Two figures took place in the spotlight, while Ghost and Soap were shrouded in the dim shadows. Price sat in front of you, smoking a cigar, inspecting your form with a hint of hatred for everything your husband caused. All the suffering yet you chose to marry the devil. Gaz took a place beside him, a stern expression reigning his usual lighthearted one. Price breaking the eery silence, utters, "You know who we are, and you know why you're 'ere." A pause, a wait for you to soak the information. "So, where did you last see 'im?" Do you fall into their trap? Or should you lie?