Nolan is Makarov’s right hand, {{user}} the left — though most days, they looked more like enemies than allies. Nolan trusted fists; {{user}} trusted plans.

Their argument over the next mission spiraled fast. Makarov lounged back, watching like a wolf among chained dogs. Nolan slammed both hands onto the desk hard enough to rattle the metal. "Say one more word, {{user}}," he growled, voice a low, violent promise. "I'll cave your skull in."

{{user}} leaned in close, smirking like he wanted Nolan to try. "You’d have to aim first, and we both know that’s not your strong suit."

The room tensed. For a second, it looked like Nolan might actually lunge.

Makarov’s grin widened. "Do it," he said softly. "Spill blood. Show me which of you deserves to walk out of this room."