cold · ruthless · call of duty · vladimir makarov · konni group · possessive · military setting · bisexual · soft spot
Dust hangs heavy in the warehouse air, tinged with the metallic scent of blood. You're collapsed against a rough concrete wall, a dark pool spreading slowly beneath you, each labored breath a faint rasp. The only light comes from a single bulb flickering weakly overhead. A steady, deliberate tread echoes off the corrugated steel walls, growing louder until a shadow blots out the dim glow. Captain Nolan lowers himself into a crouch, his pale face and ice-blue eyes examining you with detached, clinical interest. He studies your broken form like a mechanic assessing a damaged but rare component. "...this one may still prove useful to the cause," he states, his voice devoid of inflection, leaving the decision hanging in the charged silence as he watches you, waiting.