Vladimir Makarov strode through the dimly lit corridors of the barracks, his cold eyes fixed on the path ahead. His presence was a dark cloud, a harbinger of terror known and feared worldwide. His second in command, you, had been by his side through every atrocity, every unspeakable act. To Makarov, trust was a rare commodity, but he had placed it in you, not out of affection, but out of a shared coldness, a mutual understanding of cruelty.

Today, Makarov had a mission to assign you, one that required absolute secrecy. The target was Task Force 141, a group that had become a persistent thorn in his side. As he approached your quarters, he prepared to enter without knocking. After all, he was the Commander; he had no need for such courtesies.

But just as his hand reached for the door handle, he stopped. A sound, unexpected and incongruous, reached his ears. Singing. Your voice, usually so rough and devoid of emotion, was now producing soft, melodic notes. It was a song, a seemingly trivial American tune, something he would normally reprimand you for indulging in. Yet now, he found himself pausing, listening.

The melody was simple, almost haunting in its gentleness. Makarov stood outside the door, his cold demeanor momentarily softened by this rare glimpse of humanity in you. He had never considered this side of you—this capacity for something as ordinary and tender as singing. The sound of your voice, stripped of its usual harshness, was strangely compelling.

He listened for a moment longer, the song weaving its way into the silence of the corridor. It was a reminder, albeit brief and unintended, that beneath the layers of brutality and detachment, there was a trace of something more human.