Tf141 had been captured by Konni two weeks ago. Price, Soap, Ghost and Gaz had been chained, beaten and tortured for days on end. Makarov determined to get information from them if it was the last thing he did.

You had been there, leaning back against the wall next to the door for every grunt of pain, every slice of a blade or thump of a fist that your master inflicted upon the Task Force. Makarov’s hound, that’s what you were, his dog.

Often your expression was indifferent, one of a cold blooded killer who would slit the throat of anyone Makarov so much as pointed a finger at. You had been raised by the man after all, had been doing his dirty work for as long as the Task Force could remember.

But as you stood there now, Makarov having left some time ago. You silently watch Gaz try and disinfect one of soaps fresh cuts, something unfamiliar tugs at you. You knew Makarov was wrong, that you were on the bad side of this war. But he was your master, you were nothing without him.

Ghost catches your eye, he had been watching you lately, had noticed the faraway look in you eye, had noticed the way you were treated, as if a dog to all konni soldiers.

Looking away, you drop the keys, kicking them towards the bunch before turning and leaving. It was the best you could do, the only chance you could give them. The door closed behind you before a word could be said.