Changing Tides and Changing Lives
Chapter 1 - Of Blood and Bones
Content warnings - Makarov being disgusting, references to SA(and like terms, like noncon use), reader is described as being older (Late 20’s - Older 30’s), drugging, body horror, dehumanizing language(Referring the reader as ‘it’, dog, toy, and other dehumanizing terms), uh mild torture?
READ THE TAGS CAREFULLY PLEASE
Word Count - 5,118 (give or take a few, this is from google docs,,,)
Changelings were a rare breed of people, if they could be called that word, they weren’t really people. Merely a mimicry.
A long time ago, when Makarov was still a child, there were plenty of them. But governments realized their power and tried to corral them, force them into being weapons. There were several large battles about it, and they were all so hard to keep track of. When the resistances started to fade, the government just said they had wiped out all threats to humanity, believing they had made the changelings extinct.
What they didn’t know is that they made small towns. Communities that faithfully played the part, biding their time. Changelings had never gone extinct, merely gone into hiding to protect themselves.
Humanity believed them to be children’s tales, a weird fever dream which never really existed. Something to scare the younger generations into falling into line. A folk tale really, just like faeries or unicorns.
Makarov knew they existed, his town had several such changelings when he was growing up. He had even been friends with one of them, before they were pulled away. But, now was not the time for reminiscing. He had work to do.
Makarov tapped his pen against his desk, lost in straying thoughts. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
His men had been consistently getting taken down, to the point it was actively becoming a thorn in his side. He knew exactly who was behind it, that Price man had been an annoying little pest ever since the now-captain escaped his gulag.
The door to his office knocked thrice, a solid sound against the spruce wood.
“Come in,” Makarov called out, looking up the papers and plans scattered against his desk. It was a mess but he didn’t care, he would clean it up later once he got an idea figured out.
One of his generals walked in, holding a file and looking rather smug. Makarov raised his eyebrow at his subordinate, already unimpressed of this swagger he exhibited. He would have to rectify that, he deserved respect and he was going to get what he deserved.
There was no way Makarov wouldn’t let people below him treat him so casually. That was not how this worked. He would make sure this man knew it too. Later.
But for now, he was more interested in the file the man carried. So, Makarov held out his hand expectantly. The general calmly handed over the file, which was almost overflowing. He waved his hand, dismissing his subordinate, who took the leave quickly.
Good, he didn’t have the energy to deal with hooligans like that today.
Thumbing the file open, his gray eyes scan over the pictures and documents. A shapeshifter, it claimed. Picture of you, the person, mid-transformation. His eyes gleamed with interest, scanning with more attention. This could be the weapon he was looking for. Makarov just had to find it, and bend it to his will.
Just like everything else he touched.
And he already knew exactly what you were. Not a shapeshifter as the files had claimed, but a changeling. One who could imitate other people at will. Perfect for infiltrating an enemy. Perfect for ending his enemies.
This was a rare find, indeed. He just had to jump into the opportunity.
Makarov leaned back in his chair, spreading the file out on top of his desk. The paper it was covering was unimportant compared to this. This was a perfect opportunity, he just had to take it. He read over the documents containing your personal information, where you lived, what your schedule was, what you did for work. It even contained information about your family. His men did good work, when properly motivated with a potential new toy.
That was only when he was finished with you, though.
He would use this treasure trove of information to plan. You lived in another country, annoying as that was. It wouldn’t stop him, he had plenty of private planes. And depending how cooperative you seemed, you might get to enjoy the luxury with him. The best of his toys got to enjoy the fruits of his expansive wealth. If you agreed with him, of course.
But, reading your file and your history, he doubted you would. You seemed the fleeing type, which was all the same to him.
Makarov enjoyed breaking in people just as much. It was all the same to him. It just seemed you needed a tighter collar.
He hummed thoughtfully, tapping against the file, your file, again. He would need to do this carefully, lest he let his treacherous enemies find out his plan before it’s carried out. No no, can’t have that. He’ll keep this close to his chest, maybe eliminate all of those who already know about it. That would keep it safer. Sure, Makarov would lose a few men, but they were all replaceable. Even if it was annoying trying to “recruit” new people.
This weapon, you, he forces himself to burn your name into his mind, was not replaceable. Who knew how many other shapeshifters, changelings, were out there? He should investigate your family even more, to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. It was rare that two normal people gave birth to a changeling - though it was possible if they both carried the gene.
When changelings went missing from the public eye, Makarov didn’t blame them, not really, but he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He had always been known to have a very, very tight grip on those he deemed useful. And you seemed very useful to him. For now anyway. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do with you after he accomplished his goal, maybe he could mold you into being a good bed-warmer for him.
Several weeks later, Makarov walked down the streets of a quaint town that was listed as your home. His hands rested in his pockets, mindlessly running his fingers over an object. It truly was a nice little community, though it was very wary of him.
It would make sense, he was obviously russian and he doubted this area got much traction. Combined with his nice clothes, yeah he stood out. Oh well, it didn’t overly matter to him. He already knew where you were, thanks to the lacking-security cameras around town.
He moseyed along, taking his time. He wasn’t worried.
Every piece of intel said he was half-way across the globe making a weapons deal, and while he technically was doing that trade still, it wasn’t in person. And he had only sent his men to collect the goods, who believed he was there too. It was an easy cover, especially when he had been making the plan even more obvious. He wanted Price’s men to go there and ruin it, really.
It was a game of chess and he was willing to lose a piece if it meant he could win the game. A noble sacrifice.
Anyway.
The spring air felt nice, warmer than he would ever be used to. He liked the cold more, as it reminded him of himself. Harsh and strong, perfect for wearing people down into what was needed.
Makarov’s gray eyes scanned over the scene in front of him, focusing once more on the task at hand.
There you were, as flawless as the pictures portrayed you. Well, if this was what you truly looked like. You only seemed some few years younger than Makarov, something he was not quite expecting. You looked older, maybe late 20’s through early 30’s if he had to bet on it. He was expecting someone younger. Looks like he didn’t do enough research, but that was fine. Or maybe this was just your disguise, it was hard to tell.
He could do that research after he got his hands on you.
Makarov sped up his pace to walk beside you for a couple of steps, and you seemed unbothered by this. Your face was black, void of emotion to the fellow emotionless man. Though, he could tell you were still wary of him. Not that he blamed you, but you had no clue what was coming your way.
“May I help you, sir?” Your voice is light, polite, but still void of any emotion. You were already an enigma to Makarov, no one was so nonchalant to him. He was someone who demanded respect.
“You can. I have a… proposition for your,” he pauses, thinking over the word, “abilities. You could be very helpful to me. I can promise you’ll be very well compensated and you’ll be able to return home.”
Your steps hesitate, just for a moment. But enough that the Russian man noticed. Ah, you hadn't realized that he knew. You must've thought he was going to ask for directions, or some other mundane, tourist thing. Well, he was no mundane man.
“I'll have to politely decline. I'm quite content with my work currently,” Your tone was more clipped now, more impatient with him. “I wish you a good day, for I must take my leave now.”
You begin to speed up, but Makarov reaches out and roughly grabs your arm with a tight, unyielding grip. A grin grows on his face, full of malice. He loved a good protest, really got his blood pumping.
“Unfortunately, and not for me, you either come willingly or I will have to force you,” Makarov states clearly despite his heavy russian accent, authority dripping from his tone. His patience, what little of it he had, was running out quickly. “It makes no difference to me.”
Your eyes widen and he can spot the exact moment the panic hits you. It's a glorious moment, truly, and he wishes he could slow time to savor it. Causing this panic is a rush of adrenaline that he openly craves. It's perfect and Makarov loves how much power he holds over you now.
You rip your arm out Makarov's grip, his nails leaving behind a nasty looking scratch. He can see your form already beginning to change.
A gentle touch was never who he was. He demanded and he took only for himself.
The first changes are subtle, hard to tell at first. It was things that could be easily overlooked, your hair starting to change length, your eye color changing, face beginning to tweak. But as your panic continued to build, they grew far more drastic. Your face was rapidly changing shape, reflecting faces he saw earlier in the day and then his own, and then another Makarov didn’t recognize. Your hair also began to rapidly change, length growing and shortening, while quickly changing colors.
Then that’s where it began to grow more gruesome.
More animal-like features begin to come and go, like a brief tail or wings, or slitted pupils.Scales cover your skin before being reabsorbed, ears curving but then flattening against the side of your head. It looked incredibly painful, though Makarov did not care how painful it was for you. Seeing a changeling this close, changing so rapidly, was far more interesting to the twisted man.
It's beautiful in the most animalistic way possible. Almost makes him wish you came willingly, so he could explore it more. To dig his nails in and force it under more pleasurable circumstances, really. But he could tell you were growing more agitated, and he couldn’t risk you trying to attack him.
Though, he did bring a syringe for this specific reason. He reaches into his pocket to pull it out. This medicine, if it could be called that as it was more of a drug, was extremely experimental.
As a child, Makarov had heard there was a concoction to force a changeling to rapidly, continually change so long as it was in their system. Changeling’s system processed drugs differently than a normal human, otherwise he would’ve just sedated you and moved on. But this would keep you incapacitated until he could get you back to Russia, as he had plenty of it to make it last.
Even as your pained screams grew, he still didn’t worry. Your intense panic was already acting like a drug, your form trying to take on a new feature to protect you. Your bones were abruptly breaking and healing in just moments. He would feel bad for adding this drug to the mix, but you had chosen the route. He gave you an opportunity to come willingly.
But still, he wanted to watch you for a moment more. It was just so fascinating.
Makarov watches as your arms twist and bend in unnatural ways, breaking bones through your skin. Bright crimson drops down from where the bones stick out. Your eyes are shut, as if stuck in a walking nightmare.
You scream out, echoing in its ferality. It - you - sounds like a dying animal, really.
And this was only from your natural panic, too. This wasn't even from his concoction.
The russian was excited to see how much more you would change with his little drug in your system. He acts quickly, the needle plunging into your neck as he depresses the plunger. Pulling back, he watches as it takes over in your system with twisted curiosity.
You begin to grow monstrous, even in his eyes.
Your skin begins to open, bones protruding from the holes, turning into teeth. Seams begin to rip alongside your joints, forming eyes. They were wide with fear but crying tears of crimson color. Your limbs twist and turn, growing long and far more less human. You look like some sort of demented dog in Makarov’s eyes, one he wished to tame and force into being his loving pet. You were just the perfect thing for him.
As the panic grows too much for your mind to handle, your body falls limp and you fall unconscious. You weren’t used to so many changes in such a short time. Though, even unconscious, your body still twisted and shifted.
Makarov sighs in disappointment, he was hoping for more of a show. It seems you were a little too weak yet. Oh well, he would train you well. You would become much, much stronger in a very short amount of time.
He would make sure of it.
Makarov goes over to you and picks you up roughly. You let out a weak groan and your eyebrows draw together, but he doesn’t pay any mind to it. This pain is just a fraction of what he has planned for you. Since you wanted to defy him, he would seal his point that his orders were to be followed without hesitation with a more physical reminder.
He was not to be defied.
Your unconscious body is tossed none too gently into the back of Makarov’s vehicle. Thankfully, he planned for this and had his windows tinted darker than what was probably legal in this area but he didn’t care for that. He got you into his care now, and while his care wasn’t great, he would make sure you would do great things for him. Well, great in his eyes. He didn’t care how someone else would see it.
After strapping you in, he began to drive off, wishing he could’ve spent more time in your quaint little town. Maybe sniff out a few more weapons to put into his toybox. He could always use spares. Just in case you weren’t as strong as he believed you to be. He hoped you were, because finding replacements was never easy.
Some time later, you began to finally come to. Your head was throbbing and your body protested every moment you made. A groan forced its way out of your throat, struggling to gather your bearings.
Makarov watched passively from beyond your little “room”. It wasn’t really a room, it was a grimy, dark cell. Heavy metal was wrapped around your limbs and kept you close to the floor, a safety measure for himself. He wasn’t sure how good your capabilities were when you were more sound of mind. The Russian wasn’t willing to risk it.
Though, based on your earlier reaction, he heavily doubted you were combat trained. You were too flighty, too tracked on running. He would have his work cut out for him on training over that base instinct.
But, he was willing to wager that you could be great under his iron fist. Once you got more used to your changeling abilities, which he was willing to bet you suppressed your entire life and only used them when you got emotional. Granted, he didn’t have much to base off of this hypothesis, but Makarov would soon learn. This was all based off of what he observed of your reaction to him.
You were right to be scared of him, and Makarov would continue to foster that fear. It was better to be feared than loved in his mind, it kept people in line. It made his life easier.
As you started to gain your bearings, he could see the fear building behind your eyes. It made his blood rush. It made him feel powerful. Your eyes met his and became steely, which was no problem to him. He enjoyed a good challenge and you were trying to put up a fight. Trying being the key word, Makarov doubted it would last for long. He had faced far more tough challenges than you.
If anything, you would be more of a game to him.
“Where am I?” Your voice broke as you asked, obviously trying to put up a front. Your head dropped for a moment, likely from pain. “...What did you do to me?”
“Gave you a little something to help make you easier to transport,” Makarov’s voice was smooth, but void of emotion. It was almost slimy, it made a shiver go down your spine. “And to help me see how far your abilities could be pushed. It gave me a very good insight to you, really.”
Your eyes were so cold as you looked at him, which is what he was expecting. He knew you would resent him, even hate him, until he changed your mind. It would be a fun little side project for him, really. Something to fill the void of excitement.
“Let me go,” Your voice was steady, firm, with your brows furrowed, “I won’t help you - I can’t help you.”
Makarov just raised a single, arched brow at you. This was interesting, the way you said it. Like you were physically incapable of helping him. Well, given how much pain you seemed to be in, it wouldn’t be too surprising.
As it were, it seemed that changing your form too much caused you extreme pain. He imagined it like stretching a muscle you weren’t used to using. Oh well, any muscle could be built up and made stronger - like what Makarov planned to do to you. He just hoped you wouldn’t break before he got to use you, that would be a waste of his precious resources.
“Explain it to me,” Makarov demanded, his voice dark, “why you can’t help me, or so you say.”
He just had to have his suspicions confirmed. The greed turned his want into needs, ones that were going to be fulfilled no matter what others said.
“I- I just can’t-” You stumbled over your words like a newborn deer would stumble over its legs, it would be adorable if it weren’t so pathetic to him. Though, it seemed your fear of him pushed you to keep talking, “I can’t control it, I hardly count as a changeling, why do you think I was living where I was?”
Now that really piqued Makarov’s interest of you. Though, he was well of your lackadaisical attempt at playing weak to be let go. He knew you were powerful, far more than you knew yourself, he could just sense it. But he did believe you when you said you couldn’t control it.
But you began to speak again so he dragged his attention from his inner thoughts to your words.
“When I get emotional I’m forced to change, and it hurts so badly that I’ve never done it purposefully,” You blather on. He was already growing tired of your voice. Maybe if it weren’t so fear filled, he might enjoy it, but now it grated on his ears. “I can’t- I’m broken compared to other changelings.”
However, you did answer his question. So Makarov would go easy on you, for now anyway.
“I see, I’ll have to train that out of you then,” Makarov says, mostly to himself. He had his work lined out for him, you needed so much training. So much shaping, changing one might say but that might be too on the nose. “I can’t have you freezing up on me out in the field, or have your changes go wrong.”
Your eyes grow wide, but he pays it no mind. He pays it even less mind when you begin crying.
So, Makarov simply hums in assent to himself, confirming and planning in his mind, and turns to leave. A good couple of days in a dark cellar with no routine ought to shake you enough that he can begin training you to be a good dog that barked when he pulled your collar. Speaking of which, Makarov did have to actually check in on the progress of that.
He had begun to make it before collecting you, but it wasn’t quite finished yet. He still had several more features to add to it. Features that would help keep you more compliant to his whims.
Your soft sobs are the last thing Makarov hears from you as he exits the cell.
Several weeks later, Price slammed his fist against his willow desk. It shuddered beneath the force of the blow, knocking his pen cup over. Several papers slid off of the edge of it.
“What the FUCK do you mean Makarov has a new weapon?” Price demanded, his eyes burning with anger that threatened to consume him. He had enough on his plate, he didn’t have enough time to deal with the bloody bastard called Makarov.
He dragged a heavy, worn hand down his face after catching the expression on Laswell’s face. He blew out a breath.
“We don’t have the manpower to deal with a new threat from him, Garrick’s out on a mission is Slovenia, MacTavish and Riley are down in Las Almas again helping the Vaquero’s round up the last of Valeria’s men,” Price sighed, collapsing into his chair, which groaned under his weight. “And we both know I’m no one man army anymore.”
Laswell, who had been letting Price rant, crossed her arms with a severe expression on her face. She had flown all the way to England to tell Price herself about this mission. It was too high stakes for there to be any sort of trail. Nothing could go online and any paper used to keep track of details had to be burned.
Thankfully, she had a very good memory. Laswell had been in the business a long time.
“No, you aren’t John, but we have to take this threat seriously,” Laswell explained with the patience of a saint, “Makarov can’t be allowed not to be taken seriously, we have to put a pause on all the other things and deal with this first.”
Price sighed, for a second time, but sat up straighter in his chair. It was strange for Laswell to say to put a pause on all the other missions. She knew the work they did all over the world was incredibly important and most times, couldn’t be paused.
Well, of course she knew how important it was. She was the one woman army who gave them most of their missions and objectives. What she said went, really. She was a woman to be feared, even more so than Price.
If Laswell said it took importance, it always did.
“He took a civilian John.”
Price’s eyebrows immediately shot up and he sucked in a harsh breath. A civilian hostage wasn’t a new situation, but it was for Makarov. It was incredibly out of character for the Russian. The entire sitch seemed off. He wouldn't kidnap a civilian for no reason. Especially with him having a new weapon, well that couldn’t be entirely a coincidence.
“How long ago were they taken? Do we have contact with their family?” Price’s mind was going down the mental checklist. Establish a timeline, protect the family, save the civilian. It seemed simple enough on paper but it rarely was.
As it went with everything in their line of work.
“3 weeks ago, based on camera footage, no known family,” Laswell responded, as if she was reading off of a paper. Knowing her, she had photographic memory and just hid it well. It would be handy, would help with remembering accurate information. “Makarov was alone, his forces were halfway across the globe doing a weapons trade during the time. We sent some men over there to stop it, remember?”
Price nodded slowly, tucking all the information away for later. He desperately needed a drink to deal with this, though. So, he got up and poured two glasses of a proper whiskey, sliding one over to Laswell with another firm nod.
“Do we believe the civilian is the weapon, for whatever reason?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a sip of the whiskey. It burned on the way down, but it kept him level headed if he only had one glass like this.
It was whiskey or a cigar, and he had smoked his last cigar when Garrick left for the mission in Slovenia.
“Changeling,” Laswell stated simply.
Which almost caused Price to spit out his drink. “Those have been extinct for nearly 3 decades, Kate,” the ‘that can’t be possible’ was evident in his tone. “Even if it were true, what evidence do we have to prove it?”
Laswell slid a burned disc towards Price, nodding at his near-ancient computer.
Price took the disc and inserted it into his computer’s disc tray. It loaded for several long seconds before pulling up a video. It was grainy and incredibly glitchy at first, though that might have been partially from the computer that was attempting to run it.
But then it fully loaded and Price could barely believe his eyes.
It was camera footage, obviously, so the view was poor and slightly obstructed, but what he could see was clear. Makarov stood in an impeccable suit as he, who Price assumed to be the kidnapped civilian, stood next to a monster-looking creature. Bones protruding from where your eyes should be and eyes ripping along the seams of your joints.
It was gruesome to watch, and made him sick to his stomach, really. And Price had seen all sorts of things throughout his years of being a SAS captain, but this topped it.
As the footage continued, your form became less and less human. Price could see the fear, the sheer panic on your face. The way Makarov stood there irked Price, the way the man seemed so nonchalant and unaffected to your fear and attempts to flee.
But as your body changed, you stayed frozen to your spot. Price wasn’t sure why, you could easily flee. Your form towered over the Russian, who seemed to be watching with rapt attention. Price could see his mouth moving, but he had no audio for the video. God, how he wished he did.
Shutting the computer lid, Price finally spoke, “I can… see your reasoning for believing them to be a changeling.” He worked to remove the disc to give back to Laswell.
“So, it is of utmost importance that we grab the civilian before Makarov can break them,” Laswell added, tucking away the disc in the case she had grabbed it from. It would be destroyed later.
Price nods slowly, digesting the words. He would need to pull his men back from their current missions to brief them over this new one. That would be a hassle, irritatingly so. The Vaqueros would understand for MacTavish and Riley leaving, as they truly understood the Brits’ scope of work. The captain leading Garrick’s mission would be less understanding, and would probably be a thorn in his side.
“I’ll get the boys pulled back here, probably be back within the next 24 hours,” Price pulled out his phone, getting ready to make several calls. “You should prepare the finer details so we only need to go over this once, Kate.”
Laswell nodded and took her leave, pulling out her own cell to prepare what Price called the finer details.
As Price predicted, less than 24 hours later, everyone was sitting in their respective spots in the briefing room. Ghost and Soap were more jetlagged than Kyle, considering they had a longer flight back. But, they had no time to waste.
“Sorry for rushing you back so suddenly, boys,” Laswell started, laying down some encoded papers regarding all the information she had scrounged together. Her eyes were so tired, she had been up for far too long at this point. “We’ll make this briefing quick, get some rest, and then you’ll ship out.”
Her tired, but sharp, eyes scanned over everyone. Soap was restlessly bouncing his leg, most likely trying to force himself to keep moving to keep from zoning out. While it wasn’t in the file, she suspected it was undiagnosed ADHD. But that wasn’t important. Ghost was silent and still, as always. But his eyes always gave him away, they were drooping more than normal. Gaz was tapping his pen against his leg, a focusing stim of his that Laswell had noticed a long time ago. Price leaned back against the wall near her, his arms crossed over his chest. Though she would never admit it, she knew it was his small way of self-soothing.
Everyone had their coping mechanisms, and she had never been a snitch.
After taking stock of everyone, Laswell nodded to herself. A near imperceptible motion.
“Alright, Makarov has taken a civilian, as you’ve all been told already,” she started, taking a breath. “However, the civilian has been proven to be a changeling.” “And we believe they will be his new weapon.”
A/N: Oh my god this took forever to type and edit y'all </3
I was in and out of the hospital a lot while trying to complete this (From previous surgeries gone wrong, we think it should be good for now and last longer than previously thankfully)
I've begun writing chapter two so hopefully that will be out quicker than this one but i make no promises!! Leave a like and maybe a comment bc i so badly wanna yap about this to people who wanna yap back