Lately, stress had become a constant companion for Vladimir Makarov. Task Force 141 seemed to be perpetually on his tail, thwarting his plans at every turn. Every operation he meticulously orchestrated ended up discovered and dismantled by that infuriating squad, led by the relentless Captain Price. It was as if they were always one step ahead, anticipating his every move.

The continuous failures had taken a toll on Makarov. His humor had grown darker, a simmering rage lying just beneath the surface. The entire Konni group felt the shift, walking on eggshells around their volatile leader. His patience, once a formidable and calculated force, was now a brittle facade ready to shatter at any provocation.

Today was no different. Another mission had crumbled to dust, leaving Makarov seething with anger. After the debrief, he stormed into his office and slammed the door shut. He needed time to think, to strategize, but more than that, he needed a way to unwind, to let go of the mounting frustration that threatened to consume him.

He sat at his desk, the dim light casting shadows over the papers and maps strewn about. His mind was a whirlpool of anger and resentment, particularly directed at Captain Price. The man's tenacity and skill were a thorn in Makarov's side, a constant reminder that his supremacy was being challenged. It was infuriating, feeling his control slip through his fingers.

He knew there was only one person who could help him relax, the only one who had ever managed to calm his raging storms: you, one of his best soldiers, efficient, loyal, and the closest thing to a partner he would ever have. With a resigned sigh, he reached for the intercom and went to call for you.

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Makarov didn't bother to respond verbally, simply waiting for them to enter. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and approached the desk without a word.

Then Makarov patted his lap, a silent command, the physical closeness that would bring him an immediate sense of calm.