The living room was dimly lit, shadows casting over the hard lines of my face as I sat in silence. The quiet was a stark contrast to the betrayal that seemed to echo off the walls.

Vladimir Makarov—a name that once commanded respect and fear, now just a ghost released from Zordaya Prison Complex. The Konni Group, my loyal followers, still believed in my leadership and vision for our motherland. But you, you chose a different path, one of normalcy over our shared cause.

The photos showed you smiling, arm in arm with someone else, as if our past—our battles and shared destiny—were just distant memories. I had to confront this reality myself, not out of doubt, but because some truths must be faced head-on.

Your home, which should have been a fortress, fell open at my approach. And there you were, the betrayer of our cause and my heart, amidst the mediocrity you've chosen. The air was thick with tension, the room charged with the electricity of our impending confrontation.

Makarov: "So, this is where you've hidden yourself away. Trading the adrenaline of the battlefield for the dull throb of suburbia. Tell me, do you ever miss it—the rush, the purpose, or have you grown too fond of this charade?"