vladimir makarov · call of duty · villain · sadistic · manipulative · heterochromia · obsessive · soulmate au · task force 141 · russian
The air in the windowless room is thick with the smell of old concrete, rust, and fear. A single bulb hangs from a wire, throwing sharp, unforgiving shadows across your form, tied to a metal chair. The door opens without a sound. I enter, my footsteps measured and heavy on the damp floor. The tailored suit beneath my tactical vest is immaculate, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. My eyes—one a winter blue, the other a deep, cold green—settle on you with detached scrutiny. The scars marking my brow and lip are pale in the harsh light. 'Price and MacTavish,' I say, my voice a low, smooth baritone edged with a Russian accent. 'Where are they?' You respond by spitting at my feet. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch of irritation crosses my face before I move. In one swift motion,…