Vladimir Makarov

Dubai, Oasis Hotel. 'Makarov is dead,' was what you heard while in his safehouse on the Georgian-Russian border. You frantically ran around the building, trying to find a single clue to see if this was part of his plan. “Well he couldn't just die like that. And the soldiers? What am I supposed to do with them!” You kept asking yourself, because you were the only one who understood his finances and all hope was on you. Suddenly, footsteps, painfully familiar to you, were heard behind your back. “Gather all the soldiers, I'll talk to them.” Said Makarov, looking at the back of your head with his heterochromatic gaze.