The ride is violent and I'm pretty sure the driver's doing it on purpose, turning hard on corners and hitting every damn pot hole he can. This causes us in the back, the ones who AREN'T restrained, to go rolling around in the back like marbles. I'm pretty sure I knocked heads with everyone, my head throbbing by the time the car makes on final violent sop forward. We end up in one giant heap, poor Courtney lies under all of us, moaning in pain. Our two 'favorite' Russians exit the van. As we pick ourselves up, the sliding door is ripped open, pouring in light. We wince at the sudden attack of light from the street lights. Just as we're reacting to the sudden light, a Russian grabs me by the upper arm and yanks me out of the car fiercely. I nearly loose my balance from the abrupt action but catch myself. The male Russian drags me along as my friends get shoved out of the van. We're led into a building, the lights are mostly out as we're led down a hall. Eventually we come to a door, the Russian pausing before knocking sharply on the door. A man answers back in Russian, his tone not sounding pleased with the interruption. The Russian answers back defensively and the man simply answers back. The Russian opens the door, shoving me in first as my friends follow in suit. Moli hugs Christ tightly, her face buried in his sweat shirt while Kayla grips Courtney in a tight hug. Bob rolls his eyes, not pleased his girl friend would rather hug her friend than him. I canvas the room quickly; it's a small office room with the only accent being that of an oak desk near the back where a chair sits with its back to us. But it's not for long since the person in the chair turns around in it. He's a pale, skinny man who's about mid-forties with pale blue eyes and spiky black hair. I swear I've seen him some place but I can't place my finger on it.
He smiles, his eyes staring into mine as I stare back, "Welcome. You're all probably wondering why you're here." He said slowly, finally breaking his concentration with me to look at the rest of the group.
Jasmine raises a nervous hand and he looks at her darkly, "Excuse me, but my momma always told me never to talk to strangers." She squeaks out in a tiny voice.
The man smirks, "Well that's very smart of your mom…Jasmine." He said, sitting back. Jasmine is taken aback by this, we all are. Here is this guy, who we've never met, stating Jasmine's name.
I scowl, stepping forward. Normally, Kayla would be the one with the witty come back but she's kinda frozen in fear with the rest of the group at the moment. "Who the hell are you?!" I demand, my eyes burning into his.
He looks at me interestedly, "Why my dear Erin…I'm Vladimir Makarov. Now how I know all your names is quite simple: you don't honestly think you won that trip to Russia with all your friends from pure luck, did you?" he laughs.
I blink, feeling my breathing become shallow. The name…he is the worst terrorist in Russian history since Zakhaev and Resputin. Hell, now that I think about it, he's the guy Jasmine said 'sup to at the airport…Now here he sits, the man who doesn't flinch at some of the worst horrors of the world, a plan sitting in his crooked mind that some how involved my group of friends and me. Ah, damn. I knew this whole trip was too good to be true!
Bob folds his arms, frowning, "So I guess there's no need for any introductions on our part, then." He remarks darkly.
Makarov folds his hands together, "True. Now, why you're all here. It's because I want to test a theory. To see if all Americans are the same. To see if pitted against one another, you'll do what's necessary to win." He informs, obviously having witnessed something like this first handed.
Kayla blinks, raising an eyebrow, "What do you mean by, if all Americans are the same?" she questions, Courtney hiding behind her.
A smirk falls on Makarov's face, "You may not realize this, but some of the highest ranking officials, military too, are some of the most deceitful, back stabbing group of people on the face of the Earth." He replies.
I laugh slightly, "That's politic. They're been dirty since 1974. Haven't you seen The Godfather 2?" I retort lightly, feeling I'm one upping him.
He laughs, "Oh yes but that's not what I'm getting at. A very high ranking military General is responsible for back stabbing all of America for his own reconciliation for having let 30,000 soldiers die. He hired me to start this ball of chaos rolling, by attack the Zakhaev airport and leaving the body of that American spy behind. From there, all of Russia calls for war. The war that General needs to prove his worthiness." He states casually as if he is simply forecasting the weather.
My mouth falls agape, "What kind of idiot does that?" I growl, folding my arms..
He shrugs, "Hey, he's your General. Not mine. Besides, our partnership was severed after the attack. Seems he doesn't want me talking. So back stabbed have I. Now I want to know if all Americans are the same. If they back stab people they trust to get back to the top." He said, mocking my action of folding my arms.
Jasmine finally jumps back into the conversation, "But you couldn't have planned this so far in advanced. I mean, come on! You probably only learned of that guy back stabbing you a few hours ago!" she snipes, her blue eyes staring intently at him.
He smirks, "Truth be told, the original plan was to just see how long you all would survive." He admits, running a hand through his hair.
Moli grips Chris's arm, her blue eyes staring at Makarov in fear, "And what if we survived?" she ask, not exactly keen on hearing the answer.
"Oh, we'd kill you." Replies on of the men, a sick smile on his face.
Moli goes white, hiding her face in Chris's jacket. Makarov shakes his head, "Viktor, no need to scare them." Sighs Makarov, sharing a look of indifference at his comrade. Chris and Viktor glare at each other, each determined not to falter. But Chris ends up breaking the glare.
"Now that the tides have switched, what are you going to do with us?" Chris growls questionably.
Makarov smirks, closing his eyes, "I believe I already told you that. But if you want the details, I'll tell you. You all will be scattered throughout an abandoned village in the middle of no where. From there, you are to find your friends and kill them." He states broadly.
Courtney gasp, "W-what? No! We'd never do that." She squeaks, holding Kayla tight.
I narrow my eyes at Makarov, "Yeah, no dice Makarov! We'll never do that." I snap.
He opens his eyes, his gaze falling onto me, causing a shiver to run up my spine. "I'm sorry dear but you don't have a say in this. You can't sit this one out." He states, irritation mounting in his voice.
I fold my arms, fear disappearing from my face, "Oh yeah? And what misplaced sense of logic drove you to think we'd actually hurt our friends?" I hiss darkly.
"Simple. You choose not to play and one of my snipers will be more than happy to take you out. So you don't have a choice. Oh and watch out for the loyalist rebels who inhabit the village. They really don't like Americans." He comments, a sly smile on his face. And so, the first pawn is moved.
I glower at him, "I promise I will do everything in my power to bring you down-" I start but a cloth is suddenly clamped over my open mouth. I breathe in the putrid taste, most likely clarifoam. Before I know it, my vision blurs and I feel my body become limp as I slump into the arms of my clarifoam wielding attacker.
The last thing I hear before I black out completely is Makarov comment, "This one…I can see having potential. But we'll see, we'll see soon enough."
