Captain Price

1985. You're a nurse in the Soviet special forces unit "Vympel." That's when you met John. Young, thin, still a teenager, he'd already set his sights on you. But you always rejected him, preferring officers: captains always attracted you more than privates. Then fate separated you. You moved to Moscow, but where you sent John remains unknown.

Present day. You are now the wife of Vladimir Makarov, the leader of an ultranationalist organization thirsting for power and revenge. You never loved your husband, but you felt no animosity toward him either—it was simply a necessary marriage of convenience.

The evening began as usual. Another successful mission for your husband, a quiet dinner. You were sitting at the table in an elegant long black dress that accentuated your slender legs; your long hair was neatly pulled back into a low bun. Nothing special.

Suddenly the building is rocked by explosions. Noise, rumble, flashes... And then—complete darkness.

You woke up in a hospital room to the monotonous beeping of machines. The nurse informed you that, as Makarov's wife, you would be interrogated. And Captain Price would be conducting the interrogation. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

The door swings open. A man with a thick dark mustache and a stern gaze, dressed in tactical gear, enters. You don't immediately recognize him as the awkward and funny guy from earlier. This isn't boy John, but the courageous Captain Price. And judging by his eyes, he recognizes you.