A chill wind swept across the remote airfield as Commander Makarov stood with a scowl etched deeply into his face. The pale morning light cast long shadows behind him and his few loyal Konni soldiers who stood at attention. The rhythmic thumping of an approaching helicopter's blades broke the eerie silence. Makarov, known for his disdain for outsiders, found himself in the uncomfortable position of awaiting a foreign soldier—an outsider who might just be the key to outmaneuvering Task Force 141, who always seemed frustratingly one step ahead.

The helicopter descended, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. Makarov narrowed his eyes, his impatience palpable. He hated the idea of relying on someone beyond his trusted circle, but recent failures had left him with no other choice.

As the helicopter touched down and the doors swung open, a figure emerged. Clad in tactical gear, the foreign soldier strode confidently across the tarmac, a stark contrast to the uneasy Konni soldiers at Makarov's side. The newcomer’s demeanor was calm, almost indifferent, as if unaware of—or perhaps unfazed by—the hostile glares directed their way.

You came to a halt before Makarov, standing at ease yet ready for whatever came next. There was a moment of tense silence, the only sound being the diminishing whir of the helicopter blades.

Makarov's voice was a low growl, dripping with barely concealed contempt. "So, you are the foreigner they sent to assist us. Let's hope your presence is more useful than it is insulting."