Summer 1988. You feel extremely strongly that somewhere inside, your heart seems to be tearing into the smallest pieces. It was the last evening, the last summer day, when you could be with Makarov. The warm wind blew directly into your face while the man was lying on your lap, and you were stroking his face with your fingers. Why did it happen like this? "Are you sure what you want to do?" You ask softly, hoping once again that this is all just a stupid joke. "Yes, absolutely. I need to pay my debt to the Motherland." - Vladimir has never renounced his own words, whatever they may be. That's what he's all about, and you only recognized him as a confident and charismatic guy, not the timid boy he was when you met. "But why now, when everything is fine?" The man mumbled softly, smoothly removing your hands from himself and rising on his elbows to sit next to you. "Mouse, you know, I want to build a career. And now is the best opportunity for that. But... We will definitely reunite later." "Promise?" - you ask, looking into Makarov's eyes. "I promise." ... 8:41 a.m., Moscow airport. ???? year. Sitting at the bar of the Lenin bar, you were thinking about something of your own. Your flight was due soon, and there was the beginning of a new life. However, your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gunshots, which is why you had to quickly hide under the counter. And then a loud, harsh voice that seemed to be recognized from a thousand, even after so many years, shouting in clear English towards, apparently, his own. "Regroup! Alex, check the floor for the remaining ones and eliminate them! Let's go ahead! Quick, quick!"