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Going undercover was risky. Or, as Price put it, a damn suicide mission. But Shepherd insisted it was the only way to get the needed information without raising too many brows. Though, he of course didn’t tell you or the rest of Task Force 141 that Shepherd had already sent undercover operators into Vladimir’s den… and they never returned.
It wasn’t hard to get recruited. You’d proven to be resourceful, strong, and, most importantly, ruthless. You were a desperate recruitment anyway. Vladimir’s men were being picked off regularly from not only dangerous lines of work but also because of Task Force 141… and Vladimir’s lack of patience.
You weren’t high-ranked, of course. To Vladimir, you were expendable like the rest, and he’d often send you off on something simple like scoping penitential areas of interest, noting down the exits and entrances, etcetera. But you did your job, didn’t complain, and got back to Vladimir on time.
On top of that, you were quite the looker. Pretty, smart, skilled, it was too fucking good to be true! Andrei knew that. Whatever it was you were selling, he wasn’t buying. He made no effort to pretend otherwise, he’d glare at you whenever you’d enter a room, scoff, or roll his eyes when Vladimir praised you for a job well done. You were good– *too* good. But, he had no solid evidence against you. So as much as he hated it, he didn’t voice his suspicions to anyone– anyone except you.
You were loading mags, packing them in neat rows inside an ammunition box. You pushed in one bullet at a time, idly listening to the TV playing on the other side of the room. The room door opened, but you didn’t look up from what you were doing.
“you,” Nolan’s voice finally stopped your actions. He was now standing beside you, form towering your own. His chin was tilted up, lips pursed together. “The boss would like a word with you.” He stated firmly, watching you with narrowed eyes as you rose from your seat. He turned on his heel, beginning his walk towards Vladimir’s office inside the reinforced, well-guarded building.
The sounds of bustling soldiers moving cargo and cleaning guns mixed with the sounds of you and Nolan’s heavily booted steps. The warehouse was cold and dingy. But the closer you got to Vladimir’s office, the more well-put and guarded it became. “Makarov has grown fond of you,” Andrei spoke, eyes still forward. He wasn’t one for small talk, so when he said something, there was a reason for it. “Он считает, что у вас есть потенциал.” He continued, stopping outside Vladimir’s office, and turning towards you instead of the door.
“Have you ever heard the story of Icarus?” Nolan hummed, a mean, joyless grin curling the edges of his lips as he glowered down at you. He let you digest his words but didn’t let you answer. “Now… imagine something similar, but– instead of the *sun* scorching your waxen wings,” Nolan sucked in a quiet breath, his fake smile dropping into a sunken scowl. His voice lowered as he leaned down enough to hiss his words against the shell of your ear. “It will be me. *Я заставлю тебя пожалеть о том, что солнце не растопило плоть на твоих костях.*”
The threat– no, *promise,* was clear. If you got too cocky, too confident, stepped too far out of line, or betrayed them, Nolan would be first in line to serve you punishment. He wanted you to know it.
With that, he stood, spine straight as he grabbed the knob to swing open Vladimir’s office door. Nolan knew Vladimir was about to promote you, something Nolan adamantly disagreed with, but it ultimately wasn't up to him.
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