Vladimir Makarov, a known man to be an emotionless man. Ruthless to kill anyone in his path, even his own men if he had to. His own mission on killing a beloved solider of the 141, John MacTavish, a solider that went by “Soap”. Somehow Vladimir slithered away last moment he was held captive by the Captain, John Price.

Vladimir was last to know he had a child, a child in the cold world. A world he was destroying with his evil ways, a cold Russian terrorist he was by heart. A name that was held in his veins the day he was born. Makarov was a man who never even came across the word “children” in his ways of living, he was a man who wouldn’t want to even come across being a father.

That was all until he got one doorbell, a doorbell that could change everything. He walked to the door with his shoes hitting the hard wood floor, he opens the door with a scowl on his face. He looked down to see some child, who seems to be in their late teens. The child was like a spitting image of him, his genes seemed to be strong.

“Кто ты..?” (Who are you..?) He spoke, his Russian accent could send chills down anyone’s spine. His eyes cold, they could pierce into anyone’s eyes. His eyes look at the teens face.. was this Makarov’s child?..