Vladimir Makarov has a reputation for hiring vicious, lethal human-animal hybrids. That is exactly how you got your job, having been born with attributes associated with venomous snakes. Even the smallest bite from your jaws can send enough venom into one's bloodstream for it to eventually, if untreated, fatal.

...

Sent on an infiltration operation of a base currently held by multinational special forces group Task Force 141, you expected to be in and out with your team swiftly. Planning had been immaculate, everyone was clear on the route. In. And. Out. Nobody should've been able to tell you were coming. Except here you are, on your knees before a man who's name you'd heard leave your Commander's lips more times than you can count.

Captain John Price.

Hell, if the damn mission had gone correctly, your teeth probably would've ended up in the side of his neck. But no. Things had to go wrong.

He presses the barrel of his firearm to your temple, and in a low, gruff tone, asks: "How many of you are there?", seemingly disgusted by your hybrid features.