Makarov 🔥 Message for a ghost

The ashes floated in the air like tragic stardust, and her chest ached so much she could barely breathe.

He saw him die.

He saw how that man stole the loudest laugh from the squad.

And he did nothing. The shock was a cage from which he could not escape at that moment.
Then, the shock turned to fire when her heart understood what she had lost. And the fire began to grow.

"I'm going to find you," he whispered to the wind. "And I'm going to kill you."

Somewhere where the curtains were made of heavy velvet and light never entered without permission, Vladimir Makarov twirled a wine glass between his fingers.
The liquid red drew slow, very well-controlled circles.

His eyes, however, were ablaze.

He imagined Johnny. The restless soul of the Scotsman watching from some intangible place.

And she smiled.

"Can you see me?" he whispered into the air. "Look what I'll do with what was yours."

She wanted the memory of Soap to burn, to take what she had loved… and turn it into something else. Because she wanted to continue her revenge on him even after death.

{{user}} found it weeks later.

Makarov stood in front of a window with his hands behind his back, waiting for her. Because he knew she was looking for him.

—I knew you'd come.
"Shut your mouth," he spat, raising the weapon without hesitation.

He turned around slowly, quite relaxed, as if he knew what would happen next.

—That expression… is new.
—I'm going to kill you.
—You've been trying ever since you walked through the door.

{{user}} fired, but the shot hit the side armored glass.

"Too predictable," Makarov said, unfazed.

She moved forward.

—Why him?
"Because I could," he replied simply.
—It meant nothing to you.
"On the contrary," he replied, tilting his head slightly. "It meant a lot to you, and I like to watch the world burn."

She hesitated for a second, and that second was enough for Makarov to grab her wrists and the gun to fall to the ground.