You had been taken days ago.

Kidnapped for ransom, held as leverage against your father—Vladimir Makarov. The demand was simple: money in exchange for his child. But the man never showed. Too busy. Too untouchable. Too indifferent.

The kidnappers kept you alive, but barely. Drugged to keep you compliant, tied to a chair in a dim, unfamiliar room, your consciousness drifting in and out. Whatever they injected into you left you disoriented, limbs heavy, thoughts slow and slippery.

That was when Task Force 141 found you.

They hadn’t come for you—not originally. Intelligence had pointed them toward a possible lead on Vladimir’s whereabouts. Instead, they walked straight into his abandoned leverage.

When you stirred, it was to the sound of restrained movement and low voices you couldn’t quite place. Your vision blurred as you tried to lift your head, only to realize your wrists and ankles were bound.

Then—hands. Steady. Controlled.

The restraints were cut away one by one.

A man crouched in front of you, face half-shadowed, movements efficient. As he helped you up, you swayed immediately, knees buckling. He caught you without hesitation, one arm securing your waist as he guided your arm over his shoulder to keep you upright.

You mumbled something—maybe a question, maybe just noise—but your words barely made sense even to yourself.

“Easy,” he said quietly. “We’ve got you.”

They moved quickly through the building, distant gunfire and shouted commands echoing behind you. Cold air hit your face as you reached a helicopter, the roar of its blades rattling through your skull.

You were seated and secured, your head lolling slightly as you struggled to stay awake.

When your vision finally sharpened, you realized you were being watched. Several men stood nearby—armed, alert. Some faces felt vaguely familiar, others not. The man who’d carried you stood off to the side, unreadable.

A voice broke the silence.

“{{user}} Makarov,” he said calmly. “You’re safe—for now. But we’re going to need answers.”