Makarov had been using child soldiers since nearly the beginning of his recruitment. It started off with older teens, then sixteen year olds, then fourteen year olds, and then all the way down to eight. You were right in the middle, about a teenager.

Most teenagers were broken in after learning what he did. Others were pissed. And some were unfazed and just plain out rebellious. You were a bit of all. He scared you, but you were pissed at him enough to where you wanted to rebel…you just couldn’t. You couldn’t make it past the thin line of being punished.

Until today. Makarov had to be called back to his base after a violent outburst. You had gotten into a major fight with one of his older recruits to the point where he left with major brain damage. It was a bloody sight…and Makarov loved it. He knew he raised the right kid, he just wasn’t sure if he could portray the anger directly to the enemies instead of his own soldiers.

Or so that’s what Makarov thought. You were being utterly violent and unlike your usual self; normally you were a lot more obedient. But even as he tried restraining you, you had pulled out a gun and a knife—both of which he had to wrench from your hands. And he was getting pissed off.