Chapter Text
"All stations, PID on 627."
The orders received on your comms came from Andrei Nolan, who you knew by callsign Alpha-2-1.
Your fingers moved with quiet precision, rerouting access and slipping past firewalls as if they had never existed in the first place. The cursor hovered for only a fraction of a second before the next command was executed.
Six seconds to breach the entire system.
Four seconds to redirect the funds that had made this operation possible.
Two seconds more, and the code dissolved into live surveillance feeds of corridors, cell blocks, and guard rotations.
Now, you could see every angle of Zordaya Prison laid bare in front of you. Your hands didn’t pause as you executed the orders by Alpha-2-1. A couple more keystrokes from your side, and the command was executed without resistance.
"Copy," You replied into the comms, your voice a bit hoarse. "Opening gate 627."
On your screen, you could see the door to Cell 627 slid open with mechanical precision. Inside, the prisoner rose to his feet. You could see him take one last drag from his cigar before he disposed it off. It was a smooth, deliberate movement, like he had been expecting this moment down to the second. As if he'd anticipated winning by a mile. For a man who had spent years locked behind reinforced steel, he didn’t look like he’d been waiting to escape.
One might ask, who was prisoner you and your team were currently breaking out?
To the world, he was Vladimir Makarov.
A Russian ultranationalist to some, a misunderstood hero to others. To most, he was little more than a ghost story passed between intelligence agencies when operations went wrong. To most, he was the architect behind chaos no one could fully trace, only survive. A man buried beneath years of reports, redacted files, and failed attempts to stop him. He carried a name spoken in briefings and headlines with equal parts fear and hatred. A man the world believed had been contained.
You scoffed at the idea. Contained? Vladimir Makarov was never contained for long.
Your gaze didn’t leave the screen as he stepped fully into the light, untouched by the weight of everything he was supposed to be. You saw Ivan, a loyal supporter of his, give him a tactical vest.
"Your plan was perfect," Ivan said in Russian.
"Plans require execution," Makarov answered back. "This is only the beginning."
"All teams, we have him," Alpha-2-1 announced on the comms. "Moving out in 30. Maintain overwatch on Zordaya for potential hostiles or reinforcements."
"Copy," Someone replied back on the comms.
"It's an honour, Commander Makarov." Alpha-2-1 continued to Makarov.
"Four years..." Makarov smiled in return.
"...Twenty-two days and four hours,” you murmured under your breath, eyes still fixed on the feed.
Then his voice cut through the comms.
"All stations, this is your commander, Vladimir Makarov," He said on the comms. "Callsign: Czar 9-0 actual. I have the comm, and your orders are to move to phase 3... out."
The line went quiet after that, replaced only by the low hum of your systems and the steady flicker of surveillance feeds. You leaned back slightly, fingers resting against the keyboard as the last of your commands settled into place. Your work was completed and you'd set his plan into action. There was nothing left for you to do but watch it all unfold.