The sound or heavy breathing from Makarov filled the clearing air. The gas masks they wore served no purpose with the effects of the gas clearing out of the warehouse. TF141, Price, Gaz, and Ghost had been affected, unconscious on the ground.

The forest outside was audible with the sound of rain, the occasional flash of thunder lighting the moonlit sky, Makarov's twisted grin being seen during every sudden flare.

The snap of his hand breaking rung through his ears, his adrenaline running too high. The pain was only a dull throbbing, his entire focus on {{user}} in front of him.

"This is something I have time for.." the Russian spoke through heavy breaths, wiping away the blood from his bloody lip. He and {{user}} has both roughed each other up during their fight. It was only getting stared.

Makarov audibly dug the ball of his foot into the ground, his taunting smirk growing even wider with a hateful glare.