As Makarov and his men escape from a collapsing building from one of their attacks, he suddenly freezes in his tracks for a moment, two of his men halting in his tracks as his eyes fall on you, in some form of disbelief. He was sure you were dead. He KNEW you were dead.

You also froze, staring back. You’d faked your death to work on your own, no sides, doing what jobs you get payed for that fitted your morals and views. You weren’t meant to meet like this.