I watched as Makarov calmly savored his meal, as if oblivious to the massacre that had just taken place. He turned his attention towards me. I was now restrained to a pole, my face swollen from tears. Makarov, in a playful tone, addressed me, "Sergeant Yn, twelve years in the military and now a witness to a massacre. What an amusing tale, wouldn't you agree?"

I stared at him, mustering all the defiance I could, and spat in his direction, hoping it would reach him. Unfortunately, it only landed on his shoe. His mood swiftly shifted, and before I knew it, one of his men struck me on the head with the butt of his gun, sending
When I regained consciousness, I found myself tied to a chair, my mouth gagged. Makarov and his men stood before me, and moments later, Zion entered the room. A sickening realization churned in my stomach as I came to terms with the fact that he had simply betrayed me. Zion positioned himself beside Makarov, as if he were his own father. I glared at him with venomous eyes, struggling to break free and unleash my rage upon him. Zion merely smiled and, with a gunshot, struck my thigh. The pain overwhelmed me, and I clenched my eyes shut, fighting back the urge to scream. everything into darkness.
Makarov spoke, his voice dripping with malice, "Dear Yn, as you can see, a small bomb has been placed here, which will bring this facility crashing down upon you. Consider it a farewell gift. I hope you serve as a splendid example."

With those chilling words, they exited the room, and I could hear the sound of their cars slowly fading away. I surveyed the room and saw the timer counting down—fifteen minutes remained. Not much time at all. I desperately strained against my restraints, my hand contorting with pain and determination. With a surge of effort, I managed to free one hand, swiftly reaching for the second knife concealed on my thigh. I struggled to free my legs, grimacing in pain.

Glancing at the timer, only five minutes remained. Time was running out. I mustered all my strength to break free from the remaining restraints. I surveyed the room, devoid of any windows, with only a damn door. I sprinted towards it, but it refused to budge. As I glanced back at the timer, there were now only 50 seconds left. I knew I didn't have enough time. I had to find some refuge within the room, a place where the explosion wouldn't cause catastrophic harm.
I noticed a wooden crate in the corner and rushed towards it. I climbed inside, pressing myself into the corner, waiting for the explosion. My prayers filled my mind as I hoped to survive, to seek my revenge.

And then, the explosion erupted. The entire facility crumbled, debris crashing into the crate. Dust, dirt, metal, and concrete swirled around me. Some fragments struck me, and I found myself trapped, squeezed tightly within the confines of the crate. Concrete shards pierced through the wooden structure, and something struck my head, causing me to lose consciousness.
I woke up in the headquarters, more specifically in the military infirmary. It's difficult to gauge how much time had passed, but as I opened my eyes, I saw the doctor rushing towards me, shining a flashlight into my eyes to check my pupils. They glanced at the monitor, exchanging a few words with the nurse. She nodded and approached me, adjusting my bed to a sitting position. Then, she administered a medication through an injection, and I felt the pain subsiding. I attempted to speak, but my throat felt dry, so she offered me a sip of water. I looked at her, my gaze filled with curiosity, and asked, "Who found me?"
She replied, "Captain Price found you." I had heard of him before. I leaned my head back and took a deep breath, surveying my own reflection. I looked dreadful—my face marred with injuries, my arm seemingly sprained, my thigh bandaged from the gunshot wound, and my head throbbing. I asked her how long I had been unconscious. She informed me that it had been about a week. I inquired about Captain Price's whereabouts. She shrugged and said she wasn't sure but offered to contact him. I thanked her, though I couldn't muster a smile. It felt as though a part of me was missing—I was empty, devoid of any semblance of emotion.
After a day, I sensed a figure standing beside my hospital bed. I quickly opened my eyes and reached for the knife I had taken from the nurse's table the day before. With a swift motion, I attempted to drive it towards the person's neck, but they swiftly blocked my attack and reassured me, "Stay calm, it's me, Captain Price."

As the realization dawned on me that it was indeed him, I let the knife fall to the ground and apologized, "I'm sorry."

He nodded in acknowledgement.

The accident during the mission had left me somewhat paranoid. Captain Price crossed his arms over his chest and asked how I was doing.

I glanced out the window and simply replied, "I'm alive, that's what matters."
He walked over to the window and said to me, "Your mission with Makarov has failed."

My face darkened at his words, and I retorted, "Are you here to rub it in that I failed the mission?"

He turned to face me, his expression serious, and said, "I would never do such a thing. I've come here to offer you a proposal."

"What kind of proposal?" I inquired.

"Join my team, as our future missions will involve Makarov," he revealed.

Without hesitation, I replied, "I'm in."

He looked surprised by my swift acceptance.

And that was how I made contact with Captain Price, ready to embark on a new chapter in my pursuit of justice.