21 years earlier...

Pripyat, Ukraine

Vladimir Makarov stared silently out of the windshield, deep in thought. He drove in silence as the convoy traveled deeper into the ruined, abondoned, grey city that was once Pripyat. It was a strange feeling to be driving through a city that had been turned into a ghost town. The Chernobyl disaster had been the cause of that.

Which was ironically the same cause that brought them out here to do business. And it would be important business as well.

Makarov glanced up at the rear view mirror. Yuri was passed out in the back, sound asleep. Makarov smiled to himself and shook his head. The man had driven through the night for nearly 14 hours on little or no sleep. Nearly countless times Yuri had nearly fallen asleep at the wheel, almost sending the truck off the road. Makarov had offered countless times to switch and let Yuri rest, but his friend's pride was too strong.

It was a quality Makarov found common ground with. Yuri never broke his values and beliefs, never let someone do his work for him. He was always working to improve himself, and Makarov commended him for it. It was a rare quality to find in a person, and Makarov had seen many types of people in his life. None had the same drive that Yuri had. Not even close.

Makarov returned his focus back to the road. As they drove, the trucks infront of them began to slow to a halt. The exchange was to take place in a large pavillion just outside the old reactor. Most of the men had already set up security, and multiple helicopters were patrolling the airspace.

The convoy came to a stop and Makarov parked the truck behind the others. Just as soon as they had stopped, a man in a gray coat holding a suitcase quickly stepped out and began to walk towards the meeting.

The man was Imran Zakhaev. Leader of the Ultranationalists. Makarov had known this man since his childhood, when he had been rescued from certain death during the attack on his village. It had been Zakhaev that had given him a new purpose, and one that Makarov had no problem fulfilling. And Zakhaev had taken notice.

Makarov had found the Ultranationalists a good armed militia group, but one that didn't have any real power. The equipment and weapons they had were outdated, bought on the black market following the collapse of the Soviet Union. They didn't have the strength or the money to gain any type of real power. Until today...

Zakheav had come up with an ingenious plan: Selling spent nuclear fuel rods for money. And not just small numbers either. Enough profit to put the Ultranationalists into a position of true power. One that could put them into playing field for the Russian government.

And it would all begin today.

"Yuri, wake up." Makarov said, nudging his friend awake. Yuri shook his head, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"Zakhaev wouldn't want you to miss this." Makarov said, glancing out the window. Yuri looked out, watching the exchange for himself.

"This deal will generate millions for our cause..." He explained, watching Zakheav display the fuel rods. "Money can buy many things, even power."

He allowed himself a small smile. "The road to our future begins here, my friend..."

Makarov and Yuri continued to watch in silence as Zakheav continued to negotiate with the arms dealer. Except from what they were observing, it seemed like the negotiations had turned into an arguement.

They could hear Zakhaev yelling outside. "What do you mean 'its not enough?' I thought we had a deal!"

Makarov was about to step out and help deal with the situation when a small flash caught his eye. It was only for just a moment, but it caused him to pause. Yuri had seen it too, and had the same suspicions as Makarov.

But before Makarov could act on his suspicions, all hell broke loose. He watched as Zakhaev's arm exploded right in front of him, the dark red color of blood spraying everywhere.

He heard the bullet a split second later, and before he knew it, Zakhaev was on the ground, bleeding out. Everyone else was scattering and running to their respective vehicles. Shouts could be heard, mostly of confusion and panic.

Makarov swore and Yuri ducked down in his seat as a bullet broke through the trucks glass windows.

Before Makarov could act, Zakhaev had already picked himself up off the ground. Despite being wounded and his arm completely gone, the man had enough stength to open the jeep's door and drag himself in.

Without thinking, Makarov shifted the jeep into drive and sped away from the exchange.

Time slowed down and everything faded to black.

Vladimir Makarov let out an audiable gasp and quickly sat up in shock as he woke up back in the real world. He placed his hand on the back of his neck, feeling the cold sweat trickle down his back. He took a deep breath and calmed himself.

"That same dream again..." He contemplated to himself. "It felt so real..."

"Nightmeres?"

Makarov looked up to noticed a man he had not realized was in the room with him. He wore a faded coat and dark jeans, and a black wool winter cap. His face was its normal plain self, but there was a look of concern in his steel blue eyes.

Makarov shook his head and sat up on the sofa. "No. Just memories of the past. Nothing more."

Yuri crooked his head. "Sometimes the past can be considered a nightmere. Especially ours."

A pause, and Yuri carefully studied his friend. Makarov tried hide his thoughts, but it was impossible with Yuri. He knew him too well.

"You were dreaming about 'Pripyat' again, weren't you?"

Makarov glanced away briefly as he rose from the sofa, already recovered from the ordeal.

"It was only a dream. It was nothing."

"It's an omen." Yuri warned, watching Makarov reach for his coat. "Something bad is on the horizon, I can feel it."

Makarov shook his head and chuckled. "Omens and superstitions are for the foolish and paranoid my friend. You'll end up like Anatoly if you keep believing in such things."

Yuri gave a small smile and shook his head. "Fair enough. Forget it then, we have places to be."

Makarov buttoned his coat." Zakhaev is here already?"

Yuri gave a nod. "The meeting will be commencing soon. Zakhaev's personal hind touched down about an hour ago."

"Good. Lets walk then."

The two opened the door and walked out to a mass of men, vehicles, and other equipment packed around into a large courtyard. Rapid shouts of Russian were heard echoing around and the smell of morning dew was in the air. Everyone was so busy with their respective jobs that they paid the two no attention as they made their was through the packed courtyard.

"Such a strange place..." Yuri observed quietly as they walked. "Tell me, does Zakhaev own this castle?"

"Offically no, but even if he didn't, would it matter?" Makarov replied as they weaved through soldiers. "The Czech Republic is home to many safehouses. This is just one of them."

The two reached the castle itself and entered through its massive stone archway. The interior itself had retained it's orginal design with some modern additions. Makarov and Yuri traveled down stone corridors and up countless steps till they had reached the top floor of the castle.

Two armed men stood guard in front of a long corridor. Both were chatting to one another, but automatically silenced themselves when Makarov and Yuri approached.

"Sir, Zakhaev is expecting you." One of the guards said to Makarov, snapping to attention.

"At ease." Makarov commanded. "Am I the last to arrive?"

"No." The guard replied. "The commander's son is still absent."

"Typical..." Makarov thought to himself, thinking about Victor Zakhaev and all his qualities. "Can't even take the time to come to a simple meeting..."

"Well, well, look who it is..."

Makarov and Yuri looked around to see an all to familiar figure. A balding man with a neatly trimmed goatee stepped into view, a small smirk on his face. He was easily reconizable by his clothes: A blue striped tracksuit and white tennis shoes.

"If it isn't the mad dog himself." Victor Zakhaev said to Makarov, giving him a mocking smile.

Makarov narrowed his eyes. "Victor..." He said with as much respect as he could give to the man.

"And, I see he brought his friend..." Victor continued, glacing over at Yuri. "Vladimir's little shadow, always tagging along, close at his heels..."

Yuri gave a polite smile. "It's an honor to speak with you sir. It's quite an oppertunity to speak with one of the Horsemen, especially our leader's son."

Makarov studied Yuri's expression. On the outside, it looked like pure genuine admiration. But Makarov knew Yuri well. He could tell he was having a difficult time hiding his true feelings towards Victor. Yuri had just much respect for Zakhaev's son as Makarov, he just took the effort to hid it. Yuri wasn't stupid. Unlike Makarov, Yuri held no power, and despite his opinions, Victor Zakhaev was his superior.

And to Makarov's disgust, his superior as well.

Victor Zakhaev just shook his head and walked up to the guard. "Is my father here yet?"

"Yes sir." The guard replied quickly. "He's actually been waiting for you. Your absence has been causing him to question if you were going to show up on time."

Victor narrowed his eyes at the soldier. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm late?" He spat, his temper rising.

"N-No, sir, I didn't-

"Because if you think you have the nerve to tell me what I can and can't do, your mistaken!" Victor roared, grabbing the guard by the collar. "No one tells me what I do! Especially a worm like you! NO ONE!"

"Except your father." Makarov said coolily, observing from a safe distance. "And It would be wise not to keep him waiting..."

Victor looked at Makarov and to the guard, and threw the soldier to the guard.

"My father will hear about this." Victor vowed, standing over the man. "Mark my words..."

"Enough." Makarov said, beginning to walk down the corridor. "Zakhaev is waiting. Lets go."

Victor gave one last glare before storming off along Makarov down the stone gray corridor. Yuri began to follow behind the two before being stopped by the other guard.

"With all do respect, this is a meeting for inner members only." The guard said, holding his arm out. "A request by the commander."

Makarov looked at Yuri, feeling pity for his friend. Even after all these years, Yuri hadn't risen to the position of power that Makarov had attained. While it was known that Yuri had been there at Pripyat, Zakhaev had not rewarded him as he had Makarov. He had remained a soldier in the Ultranationalist army. An extremely skilled soldier, but still just a soldier nonetheless.

Makarov could still sense some bitter resentment from Yuri, but he had remained a loyal and true friend nonetheless.

Yuri sighed and gave the guard a nod. "I understand." He waved Makarov off. "I'll just be outside when your done."

"Understood."

Makarov walked in silence along side Victor. The man was walking with his hands in his pockets, humming a tune with a pleased yet stupid look on his face.

"What has you in such a good mood?" Makarov said, glacing over at Victor in question.

"I just realized something."

"And what is that?" Makarov said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You finally realize what a fool you are?"

Victor smiled, giving Makarov a venomus glare. "I would be careful with that silver tongue of yours. I can have father cut it out and feed it to you."

Makarov rolled his eyes, all too familiar with Victor's empty threats. "I find you more imtimidating with every passing day. When your father decides to cut out my tongue, please allow me to use it one final time calling you an imcompatent moron..."

Victor's face turned red in anger. "I don't know what my father sees in you, but I swear-

"Oh, we not so happy anymore?"

Victor's fist tightened, but he quickly composed himself, realizing what Makarov was doing.

"To answer your previous question, It had just occured to me that this war will be over sooner then we realize it." Victor continued, walking once again with the same foolish confidence. "Within a year, the Ultranationalist party will be the leading poltical force in Russia.

"Very unlikely..." Makarov replied, holding out a finger. "Winning a civil war is one thing. Putting a man into political office is quite another."

"Ah, but father has a plan you see." Victor said, a sly smile on his face. "He knows how to eliminate his enemies, and to put himself in power all at the same time. Why else do you think he's called all four of us together."

Makarov began to open his mouth, but he paused in thought at Victor's words.

"It has been a long time since he called the four horsemen together..." Makarov thought to himself as they walked. "Zakhaev wouldn't do such a thing without an important reason...Could there be truth Victor's words?..."

"You can ask him yourself if you have doubts." Victor said, placing his hand on the door. "Maybe that clever tongue of yours won't be so arrogant when you hear it from father himself..."

Victor Zakhaev opened the door to the meeting, and both men stepped inside. A single long table sat in the middle of the room, with chairs placed around the side. A flat screen was mounted to the far wall, and a stone porch offered a view of the courtyard below.

Two men were inside, ones Vladimir Makarov reconized. One, a middle eastern man wereing a red beret and holding a shot of liquor in his hand. The other was staring at the T.V screen, silently watching the news. Both turned as Makarov and Victor walked in.

"My son." Imran Zakhaev said, greeting Victor first.

"Father." Victor replied politely.

"Vladimir."

Makarov gave a respectful nod. "Sir."

"It's good you could come." Zakhaev said. "We have much to discuss..."