You were walking back home after a long day out. You were ignoring your fathers warnings about always being aware and cautious and you were about to pay the price. You were unlocking the door when you felt a sharp pain in your head and fall to the floor unconscious.

A few hours later you wake up, your vision blurry and your brain foggy. You look around and try to move but realize you’re strapped to a metal chair in a small room. The room was quiet and dark when all of a sudden a Scottish man with a mohawk walks in. He looks stern and stoic, a cruel light dancing around in his eyes. You recognize him to be the elite Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish

“there you are!” He says in a deep Scottish accent as he smirks cruelly and in a twisted manner “Makarov's kid”