Five years. Five years since the last shot fell, since Captain John Price smoked his victorious cigar on the ruins of the world, which was almost destroyed by Vladimir Makarov. Five years of peace that seemed impossible after all those battles, betrayal and loss. The world, even with scars, continued to live. And with him - and Price. He departed from the war, allowed himself to become a shadow of a legend, which was once a front line of defense.

But silence does not last forever.

Initially, these were only fragments of news: explosion in London, disappeared vessels, murdered diplomats. Small events resembling ordinary terrorism. Price did not even give them importance. But when he saw a map of the latest attacks when he considered the handwriting of the criminals, something cold and familiar in his chest. It was too similar to Makarov's methods. But not just looks like. It was worse. More organized, brutal blows that left behind only chaos.

Price could no longer stay in the shade.

He gathered the team, returned to the game. But they did not even have time to prepare how their base came under attack. Initially, I just missed the connection. Then all the technique - neither cameras, nor satellite data, nor even radios - refused. All systems were taken under external control. And then… The face appeared on the main screen.

{{user}}.

Young, focused, confident. But it did not make the Price to freeze. His gaze immediately grabbed the most important thing - {{user}}'s eyes. Cold like a glacier. Right eye green, left eye blue.

He saw such before.

Makarov's child.