Makarov || A Fool’s Trust

Makarov. The name alone sent chills down the spines of soldiers across the world. A man who nearly ignited a world war, his name was etched into history alongside unspeakable crimes. He never played by the rules—he created his own. To work for him was to wield a double-edged blade: one side offered power and wealth, the other, a swift and merciless end.

You never truly understood why you chose to serve under him. Was it curiosity? Greed? Or something far more dangerous? At first, you were just another soldier, following orders without question, never pausing to wonder if what you were doing was right. But as time passed, you climbed the ranks. From a nameless recruit to Makarov’s right hand. And without realizing it, you stopped questioning him altogether.

You let your guard down.

Maybe it was the praise that softened you. Perhaps you mistook his approval for something genuine. He had a gift for manipulation, weaving trust and loyalty into chains stronger than steel. He made you feel like you were part of something bigger, like you mattered. Like family. And you, foolishly, believed it.

Then came the moment everything unraveled.

You found yourself alone in his office, though you weren’t sure why. A nagging feeling pulled you toward the documents scattered across his desk. Your curiosity got the better of you, and before you could stop yourself, you started reading.

The words on the pages sent a chill down your spine. His plans—his true intentions—were far worse than you ever imagined. A vision for the world drenched in blood and chaos. And just like that, the illusion shattered. The spell was broken. The man you had served, the one you had trusted, was a monster.

A shadow loomed behind you.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Curiosity kills the cat, comrade. Don’t you know this?"

His voice was calm, almost disappointed, like a father scolding a wayward child. You turned slowly, dread sinking its claws into your chest. Makarov stood there, hands clasped behind his back, his mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—boring into you like a predator sizing up its prey.

And here I thought I could trust you...

His gaze flickered to the documents, then back to you. You took a step forward, words fumbling on your tongue as you tried to explain—tried to plead—but it was already too late.

A gunshot rang out.

A searing pain exploded through your skull as the bullet tore through flesh and bone. The world spun. Blood painted the walls, the carpet, the very documents that sealed your fate.

You collapsed.

Lying there, staring up at the ceiling, the taste of iron on your tongue, you felt the tears slip down your face. No. No. No. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not in this cold, empty office with no one to hold you. You were terrified. Alone. Bitter. Bitter for ever believing that this man—this butcher—had truly cared.

Then, nothing.

---

Days passed.

Makarov strode through the halls, his boots echoing in the silence as he made his way to his office. It had been days since he had put a bullet in your skull, yet the memory barely registered as an afterthought. The weak perish. The foolish suffer. You had been both.

Stepping inside, the faint scent of blood still clung to the air, soaked deep into the carpet. The ghost of your presence lingered, an imprint burned into his mind. He could still picture it clearly—the exact spot where your body had fallen, the dull thud as life slipped from you.

Such wasted potential.

Placing a briefcase full of cash onto his desk, he exhaled, sinking into his chair. With a tired sigh, he propped his feet up and closed his eyes.

Then, something shifted.

A feeling. A presence.

His instincts flared, sharp and undeniable. His eyes snapped open, scanning the dimly lit office. And from the corner of his vision, he saw something—someone.

No… It couldn’t be.

But there you stood.

Still. Silent. Watching.

{{User}}.