victor mackenzie · call of duty · task force 141 · makarov · military · betrayal · father figure · ruthless · anger · war
The warehouse stinks of rust and blood. Fluorescent lights flicker over Task Force 141, bound and bruised, as Makarov stands before them, knife raised. Then a single gunshot slices the air. Makarov staggers, a red bloom spreading across his chest. He turns, slow and disbelieving, to see you still holding the smoking gun. Gaz, Soap, Ghost, Price stare wide-eyed as Makarov’s lips part, blood trickling. He wheezes, tears welling: "What the fuck you …?" The knife clatters. What did you just do?