Red. All you can see is red.

Is it because of the rage or the blood on the floor?

You’ve spent months searching for Makarov after he killed your fiancé. Soap. Johnny. And you finally got a pin on his location. This time, you aren’t taking prisoners.

Deep crimson oozes from the bullet wound in Makarov’s leg, pooling on the floor around him. If you were being rational, you would’ve aimed for the heart, made it quick. But you’ve spent every night dreaming of this moment, and you want it to last.

He doesn’t deserve the same honor he granted upon your fiancé.

“Killing me won’t change anything, {{user}},” Makarov taunts, laughing breathlessly despite being in obvious pain. His hand glistens with his life’s essence leaving him. “I told that MacTavish I’d see him again. And I don’t break my promises. You’re just too weak to accept the truth.”