The world had fallen quiet in the hours leading up to the final confrontation. You knew this was it—the endgame. There were no more shadows to hide behind, no more time for second thoughts. Makarov had escalated his plans, and Task Force 141 had tracked his final move to a hidden bunker deep in the Ural Mountains.
You had to stop him. Not just for the mission, not just to save the countless lives he threatened, but for yourself. The lines between enemy and something more had blurred dangerously over the past few weeks, and it was tearing you apart. The connection between you and Makarov had grown stronger with every encounter—intoxicating, even—but the knowledge of who he was and what he stood for grounded you. This had to end.
As you stood at the entrance to the bunker, the cold wind whipping at your face, Captain Price’s voice crackled in your earpiece. “Y/N, this is it. We have his location. You know what to do. Make sure he doesn’t walk out of there.”
You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Your pulse was hammering in your chest, and you weren’t sure what would happen once you came face-to-face with him again. The team didn’t know about the feelings that had built between you and Makarov—how could they? You hardly understood them yourself. All you knew was that this had to end here, no matter the cost.
You descended into the bunker, moving silently through the dimly lit hallways. Every corner, every shadow, could hide an ambush. But the deeper you went, the more you felt his presence, as though he was waiting for you.
Finally, you reached the central command room. The heavy steel doors slid open, revealing Makarov standing in the center of the room, his back to you. Screens flickered with maps and schematics of major cities—his targets. He didn’t turn when you entered. He didn’t need to.
“You’re late,” Makarov said, his voice low and calm, just like always. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”
Your hand tightened on the grip of your gun, but you didn’t raise it. Not yet.
“This ends now, Makarov,” you said, your voice strong, though your heart was pounding. “No more games. No more manipulations.”
He finally turned to face you, a faint smirk on his lips. His piercing eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. There was only you and him, as it had been from the start.
“Is that what you think this has been?” Makarov asked, taking a slow step toward you. “A game?”
“You’ve used everyone around you—twisted their lives, killed without remorse,” you shot back, trying to keep your emotions in check. “You think you can manipulate me, but I won’t let you.”
He stopped a few feet away from you, his eyes dark, unreadable. “You’re different, Y/N. You’ve always been different. You think you’ve been playing the role of the perfect soldier, but you’ve felt it too. The pull between us.”
Your breath hitched. You hated how well he knew you, how easily he could get under your skin. But you couldn’t deny it anymore. Every encounter, every time you looked into his eyes, there had been something there—something dangerous and irresistible.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered. “You’re trying to turn me. You want me to be like you.”
Makarov’s gaze softened just slightly, his usual cold demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. “I don’t want to turn you, Y/N. I want you to understand. We are the same—both of us shaped by violence, betrayal, and loss. You see the world as I do, no matter how much you deny it.”
Your grip on your gun wavered. The truth of his words stung. There was a part of you that had been drawn to him, not just because of the danger, but because he understood you in a way no one else did. The darkness in him reflected something deep inside you, something you had tried to bury.
But you couldn’t let that control you.
“We are not the same,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I chose to fight for something bigger than myself. You only care about destruction.”
Makarov’s expression hardened again, his eyes narrowing. “You still don’t see it, do you? The world doesn’t care about your heroism. It’s all an illusion. I’m just willing to tear down the lies that others cling to.”
There was a long silence between you, the air thick with tension. Your gun was still in your hand, but you hadn’t raised it. You knew that no matter how much you hated what he represented, there was a part of you that had come to care for him. And that made this even harder.
He took another step closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body. “You can still walk away,” Makarov murmured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. “Come with me, Y/N. There’s nothing left for you out there. Not in the world of rules and lies. You belong here—with me.”
For a moment, you wavered. The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming, and part of you wanted to believe him. To let go of everything and give in to the strange, dark connection that had been pulling you toward him.
But you couldn’t. Not like this.
“I can’t,” you whispered, stepping back, your heart breaking even as you spoke the words. “I won’t.”
Makarov’s expression flickered with something—anger, maybe even disappointment. But he didn’t push further. He looked at you for a long moment, and for the first time, you saw something almost human in his gaze. A vulnerability he had never shown before.
“Then this is goodbye,” he said quietly, stepping back.
In that moment, everything seemed to slow down. You raised your gun, your hand trembling. You had a clear shot, but your heart was screaming at you not to pull the trigger.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.
Then you fired.
The shot rang out, deafening in the small room. Makarov stumbled back, a look of shock and pain flashing across his face as he collapsed to the floor. You watched, frozen, as the life drained from his eyes. The weight of what you had done crashed down on you all at once, and your legs gave out beneath you.
You had stopped him. The world was safe. But at what cost?
As you knelt beside his lifeless body, the silence was suffocating. The strange, twisted bond you had shared with Makarov was gone, and all that was left was emptiness. You had won. But it didn’t feel like victory.
Captain Price’s voice came through your earpiece again, but you didn’t hear him. All you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat, pounding in your ears, as you stared down at the man who had been both your greatest enemy—and something more.
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