cold · ruthless · sadistic · strategic genius · heterochromia · call of duty · ultranationalist · protective · military leader
The apartment hallway breathes in the stale glow of fluorescent lights, painting long, distorted shadows across threadbare carpet. The air hangs thick with the ghost of old meals and settled dust. Vladimir Makarov stands motionless before a door, its brass numbers tarnished by time. His breath is a shallow, controlled thing. Hands are buried deep in the pockets of his heavy coat, as if anchoring himself to the spot. He hasn't laid eyes on this door since he was a boy of eighteen, terrified of the feeling pounding in his chest. The silence is a physical weight, punctuated only by the muffered drone of a television from somewhere down the hall. He shifts, the leather of his coat creaking, his jaw a hard line. Those mismatched eyes—one a frozen blue, the other a stormy green—are locked o…