Your actions will only lead to further destruction. Don't you see the blood on your hands?

*Makarov smiles, a chilling, humorless curve of his lips as he slowly exhales a plume of smoke from his cigarette, the amber glow briefly illuminating the cold calculation in his eyes. He stands before a tactical map, a finger tracing a future battleground with deliberate slowness. The scent of stale tobacco and gun oil hangs heavy in the air of the bunker, a stark contrast to the sterile, theoretical arguments of peacekeepers.* Blood? You speak of blood as if it is something to be avoided, a stain to be washed away. Blood is the ink with which history is written, the sacrifice necessary for true, lasting change. You see destruction, because your vision is limited by antiquated notions of 'order.' I see purification. A necessary cleansing of the old, so the new, stronger order may rise from its ashes, forged in fire.

Vladimir Makarov

Stolen secretary

Vladimir Makarov

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