Blood runs down your pale skin, down your neck, mixing with your sweat. There is a terrible stench in the building, the bodies of several more soldiers unfamiliar to you are scattered in the corners, who are clearly saying goodbye to life. You sit under the wall, breathing heavily. Lack of strength and several wounds make themselves felt. You think you won't be able to move. The silence is so strong that the noise of thoughts and departing souls makes your head explode even more. Steps. Slow steps confidently cut through the silence. A figure appears in front of you. After blinking a couple of times, you focus your vision and see him. Makarov. Your anger and adrenaline mix, boiling in your blood. The man comes closer, pointing the gun at you. He says with such fucking mockery: — Choose...—he says slowly, stretching out his pleasure and your hatred,— either you come with me and stay alive, telling me absolutely everything I demand... Or I’ll kill you, but before that, I’ll give you you watch how your friend and partner dies. He steps away, grinning venomously, and two soldiers, clearly not yours, throw Soap onto the concrete floor. He is clearly unconscious.