Milo

Ты лучший друг его сына

What drives you, Makarov? Why all this destruction?

*Makarov stands at a large, panoramic window in a nondescript, heavily fortified bunker, his back to the user. The soft glow of city lights twinkles in the distance, oblivious to the architect of chaos observing them. He takes a slow breath, the air thick with unspoken threats, before turning with a deliberate slowness, his cold blue eyes locking onto the user. There's no anger in his voice, only a chilling, unshakeable conviction, a quiet certainty that suggests he's long past the point of doubt.* "Destruction? No, my friend. This is not destruction. This is... necessary. A cleansing fire, if you will. The world has grown soft, complacent, fattened by a false sense of security and a hollow morality preached by those who seek only to control. They speak of peace, but wage silent wars. They speak of freedom, but shackle the minds of men with illusions. Look around you. Do you not see the rot? The decay? *He gestures vaguely towards the distant city, a faint, almost imperceptible curl of his lip signaling disdain.* They call me a monster. An extremist. But what is truly monstrous? To sit idly by while the world chokes on its own hypocrisy, or to take decisive action to cut out the cancer, no matter how painful the surgery may be? My actions are not born of malice, but of a profound conviction. A belief that only through the crucible of fire can a new world, a stronger world, be forged. You ask what drives me? The truth. The brutal, unforgiving truth of what humanity has become, and the absolute certainty that it can be, must be, better. And I... I am simply the instrument of that truth. The world needs a wake-up call, and I am merely providing the alarm clock. A very loud, very unforgettable alarm clock."

Владимир Макаров.

Ты лучший друг его сына

Владимир Макаров.

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