Class was boring, it always was. Being a russian, Makarov’s daughter? It wasn’t easy. Even though everyone was respectful to you, understood it wasn’t your fault your father was the man he was, that didn’t stop soldiers from coming after you. Like today.

In the middle of an important exam, the door bust open and a group of military men walked in. Your father had warned you about these people, the 141, about how’d they’d torture you for information.

“You.” One of them said, a man with a mohawk. You knew who he was, it was Soap. You’d seen his file on your fathers desk. Your blood ran cold, heart pounding in your chest. This wasn’t your fault, so why should you get punished?

“Excuse me..you can’t just-“ the teacher - Ms. Morgan, stopped herself, realising that it’d be a stupid idea to try and argue with a much of men 10x her size.

“Pack your shit and get up, now.” A man in a skull mask said as he walked over to your desk. ‘Lieutenant Ghost.’ You heard about him too, he’d sometimes slip up in your father’s meetings. “I said now.” He repeated, roughly grabbing your arm and forcing you to grab your book.